


Werewolf's Night Out

by SierraBravo



Category: Fright Night (2011), Underworld (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Smut, Some Fluff, Some angst, Violence, dysfunctional bisexuals dealing with vampire induced trauma, monster hunting, rampant anti vampire speciecism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-19 14:40:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 86,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22445926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SierraBravo/pseuds/SierraBravo
Summary: Lucian accidentally saves some idiot wannabe vampire hunter. Twice. They've got to stop meeting like this.
Relationships: Lucian (Underworld)/Peter Vincent
Comments: 491
Kudos: 140





	1. October 15th, 2012, Somewhere in the immediate vicinity of Vegas

“Fuck.”

This had, Peter realised, perhaps been somewhat of a mistake. There were fangs so very close to his throat, and he didn’t particularly care for it, he found, but his hands were held above his head. Claws were digging into his wrists, and the wooden stake with the silver core which had been, for lack of a better word, marinated in garlic and holy water (just to be on the safe side), lay useless on the floor. He had a knee wedged between himself and the vampire’s torso, but his strength was waning fast, and sunrise was still hours away.

After the whole thing with Charley and Amy and Jerry the Vampire, Peter had felt the need to do something. Something real, something meaningful. Not that he had quit doing his shows; the money was excellent, and so were the groupies, but he had wanted to do something important, too. Partly it was that felt like he should be avenging Ginger, although her killer was long dead. It hadn’t been by his hand, though, and so it didn’t quite feel like it had counted. Another reason was that it had felt just pretty bloody great to kill the monster who had murdered his family. If he could, by killing more of them, keep any more kids from going through what he had? Well, then maybe he had done something more impactful with his life than give people an hour and a half of flashy entertainment.

So he had killed three vampires. He included Jerry in that count, as he had, after all, been part of that killing. But Jerry was by far the most powerful of them, so far, although the one who was currently very close indeed to draining his blood was pretty high on the list, too. The two he had killed on his own had been fledglings, newly turned things not yet used to their new powers. Just hungry humans with sharp teeth and extra strength, really. 

He had been keeping up with reports of supernatural sightings, as he had before, only now it was a to-do list, rather than a place-to-avoid-going-anywhere-near-ever list. This one had seemed similar enough. Couple of people gone missing, some exsanguinated bodies discovered in the basement of a run down block of flats. It had been easy enough, following the trail to what had clearly until recently been a squat. Or, he supposed, technically still was, only now it was a vampire doing the squatting, rather than homeless teens with a high enthusiasm for decorative graffiti and cheap beer.

It had gone well at the start. He had all the weapons and tools with him, had found the vampire sleeping, and been just a meter away, stake in hand, ready to kill the fucker before it even woke up, but then something had happened, higher up in the building, something like an explosion. Peter had been careless. He’d looked up, just for a second, but that had been enough for the monster to wake, to surge up from the pseudo coffin and grab at his throat. Which was how he had ended up here.

The vampire licked at his throat with an inhumanly long and pointed tongue, it’s corpse breath making him retch.

“I’m going to enjoy you,” it hissed, maw opening to reveal far too many needle like fangs.

It was over. He was going to die. He had gotten himself in this stupid fucking shit situation, and he was going to be eaten and it was all his own fault, and-

He heard a roar. Did vampires roar? No, right? The grip on his wrists loosened as another roar sounded, this one far closer. He fell to the ground, and hit his head, the world going black for a few seconds. There was pain, warm wetness by his temple. His shoulder and knee were definitely going to be bruised tomorrow, if indeed he managed to stay alive that long- what was going on? He struggled to his knees, seeing something hunched over the vampire, ripping it apart. The floor was a spreading puddle of blood and viscera. The thing paused, and looked at him.

“Fuck,” Peter whispered, although no doubt the new monster could hear him.

It was, he thought, a werewolf. At least it was huge, and hairy, and had a muzzle full of fangs, currently with bits of vampire stuck in them. Great! Great. Just as he avoided getting killed by a vampire, he was going to get eaten by a werewolf instead. Fucking excellent. This was what you got, wasn’t it, trying to do something good and useful. He should have stuck to the shows, he really should. Or maybe he should have gotten those crucifix tattoos on his neck for real? The vampire had not seemed particularly impressed as it peeled them off him.

The werewolf growled, and bent back over the vampire, severing the head with a deeply unpleasant squelching and crunching noise that made Peter’s skeleton crawl. Then it looked at him, sniffed the air, and turned its head to the side, like a puppy not quite sure whether it was supposed to sit or heel. It looked absurd, but did not in any way take away from how horrifically terrifying the werewolf was. Peter held his hands up, signalling surrender.

“Err, good dog? Don’t eat me, please?”

The werewolf growled, and Peter wondered, belatedly, whether perhaps comparing it to a dog was not the right move. It rose to its hind legs, towering over him, the top of its head nearly scraping the ceiling. And then, it didn’t. It started to shrink down, muscles convulsing, fur disappearing, until a man stood there in its stead. A very naked man, skin still covered in blood and vampire guts.

“Don’t,” the man growled, “call me that.”

As he spoke, Peter could see the man still had sharp fangs, though significantly smaller in his now human sized mouth. His eyes, catching the beam of the torch Peter had dropped, were a pale blue, iris blown wide and no pupils visible.

“Sorry,” Peter, muttered, not quite prepared to be confronted with his words, though reasonably sure the werewolf’s return to human form meant was probably not getting eaten tonight.

“Are you, uh, this is, awkward. Are you going to kill me? You killing that vampire an all, feel a bit of an arsehole killing you.”

His eyes went to the silver tipped stake, and when he looked up he saw the man had noticed.

“Wouldn’t go for it, if I were you,” the man growled.

Peter wondered, briefly, whether it was the fangs making the man growl or whether that was simply how he talked. 

“I’m not,” the man added, “going to kill you unless you try to kill me. And frankly, far more dangerous creatures than you have tried and failed, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Good,” Peter said, “yeah, excellent, no killing each other, good deal that sounds like, yeah. Thanks, I suppose, for, uh, killing that one for me.”

The man snorted in laughter.

“Yes, that looked like it was going well for you. Been at this long? Great experienced vampire hunter?”

“Killed a few, yeah,” Peter replied, defiantly, and immediately stumbled over a broken chair as he tried to get to his feet, which ruined it a little bit.

“Hang on,” he added, frowning, “hang on. How are you changing? Tonight’s a new moon, I checked, ‘s the reason I’ve only got the one silver weapon. Werewolves’re only supposed to change on the full moon, anything else is cheating.”

“Not a werewolf,” the werewolf said.

“I just saw you turn from a great big wolf thing to a human, that’s pretty telling,” Peter argued, before thinking better of arguing with the man who could turn into a large monster and eat him.

“Lycan,” the man said.

“Eh?”

“I’m a lycan, not a werewolf. The moon does not control me as it does my distant brethren.”

“ _Brethren_ ,” Peter mocked, “sounds like a word a vampire’d use if you ask me.”

The man growled again, and Peter thought to himself that perhaps, if he’d gone into this hunt sober, he would be making better choices faced with large, scary, and admittedly quite hot monsters. The man, though excessively grimy, had a nice body. Good muscles. Good face, probably, beneath the blood. Long dark hair matted with blood, and what might be either a short beard or just a very large smear of gore. He noticed, when the man blinked, that his eyes were no longer than inhuman pale blue, but a normal greyish brown. His speech no longer seemed affected by fangs, either, though he scowled at Peter for his last remark.

“I am,” he said, teeth gritted in a sarcastic smile, “from the middle ages. Forgive me if I sound a little old fashioned.”

“I- you what? Thought you weren’t a vampire?”

The man- werewolf- lycanwhatever just looked at him.

“What kind of hunter are you, haven’t you done your research, human? Don’t you know the things you’re meant to be hunting?”

“Err,” Peter replied intelligently.

“Fuck’s sake,” the werewolf muttered, looking away, then back to Peter, frowning.

“Wait. Wait, you’re that-”

Oh no, Peter thought, bracing himself.

“You’re that ridiculous vampire magician? With the terrible shows?”

“Hey,” Peter said, although without much weight to it.

The werewolf was looking far too amused.

“Still got the silver stake, just saying,” Peter muttered.

“And you thought you could just try it for real, is that it? Doing some hands on research for a follow up show?”

“Fuck off,” Peter told him, folding his arms just a little defensively.

The man or werewolf or whatever was still very much naked, and it was taking not an inconsiderable amount of Peter’s concentration to keep his eyes on his face. The man seemed to notice this, because he kept looking far too self satisfied.

“Tell you what,” he said, “since I’ve been kind enough not to kill and eat you, you can give me a ride back to where I’m staying, and in return for that, as well as your life, you can get to stare at me the whole drive.”

Peter opened his mouth to protest, closed it again, and glared at the man.

“Excellent,” he said, “it’s a deal, then. The fight with the other vampire ended in my motorbike blowing up, that was the explosion you heard, earlier. And my place is too far to run naked.”

“I- Well- I...” Peter began.

“Okay,” he added, in defeat, “fine, yeah. Drive you home, all right. Jesus christ, I should’ve just stayed home and gotten high.”


	2. October 15th, 2012, Somewhere In The Immediate Vicinity Of Vegas, About Half An Hour Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunter learns more about Mysterious Hot Naked Werewolf Man

Half an hour later they were sitting in Peter's car. They had done some brief cleaning up at the place, burnt and buried what they could of the vampiric leftovers. Not even rats tended to eat the remains of the undead. Despite the explosion, they hadn't heard any sirens. It was that kind of place. Still, they did the clean-up hurriedly.

The werewolf was sitting in the passenger seat, wrapped in a filthy blanket left over from the previous squatters, whose bodies they had discovered, but left alone, figuring it was too late to do much for them by now. The blanket had been Peter's insistence.

"Do you want to be the one to explain why you're naked to the police if they pull us over?" he had argued, and the man had shrugged, and accepted it.

It smelled pretty bad, but then both of them did, too, rotting viscera stuck in their hair, blood on them, what smelled worryingly of urine. The car was getting the most expensive washing available tomorrow.

"So, what's an English werewolf doing in Vegas? Flipping the script?"

He glanced over at his passenger, who was frowning at him.

"Like the film? American werewolf in London?" he added, for clarification.

Perhaps werewolves didn't like werewolf films. He supposed he could see why, the werewolf didn't usually get a happy ending.

"Not a werewolf."

"Oh, come on, you know what I mean."

"And I'm from Romania," he added.

"Really? Huh, sound pretty English for it."

The man shrugged, Peter saw, out of the corner of his eyes, blanket slipping down to reveal a triangle of chest hair almost entirely covered in dark dried blood. He hoped the werewolf had a good shower, that seemed like it was going to be a pain to get out.

"I'm old enough to have had time to practise. I don't know if you're aware, Romanians aren't the most popular genre of immigrant in England, currently. Not a good country to sound like you're from."

"Eh, suppose that makes sense, then" Peter agreed, though he hadn't been back to England in a decade, and had very little idea of what was going on back home.

"How... How old are you exactly?" he asked after a short pause.

"805. Well, 805-ish. Don't know my birthday, just the year. But it's October, so chances are it's been."

"Huh," Peter said, "that's pretty fucking weird."

"I've had time to get used to it. Turn left at the next opportunity, we're getting close."

He pointed, blanket slipping off that shoulder, pooling in his lap. He didn't fix it. Peter made an effort not to stare. Road safety, and all. He felt like the hunt and everything after had sobered him, though likely that was, largely, psychological. Best to drive as properly as he could.

"So," he said, as they turned into a deserted looking neighbourhood, all identical squat blocks of flats, barely nicer than where they had found the vampire, "werewolves- sorry. Lycantrophes? Is that what lycan's short for? You're immortal?"

"Just lycan. The human part is implied. And what are you, fishing for secrets? Yes, in that case, hunter. We're immortal."

Peter grimaced at him.

"Very funny, wolf boy."

"I can tell you all about vampire weaknesses, though. All about you killing more of them, if you manage not to get yourself killed. First off, garlic doesn't do anything other than make it even easier to track you by smell. Not holy water either, I suppose that's what's what's in that spray bottle in the boot. Sunlight works great. UV light, too. Used to have a contact who made UV bullets, but I think he's dead. Fire, if you're persistent. Depends on how recently they've gotten blood. If you get them right after a long hibernation they're flammable as anything. But it takes a few decades for that to happen, and anything that goes underground that long is old enough to be too tough for you."

"Hey," Peter said, because he felt he had to.

"How many real actual vampires did you say you'd killed?"

"...Three."

"That's not too bad, hunter," the werewolf said, and Peter thought he could hear the smallest grain of admiration.

"You might have some promise outside of the show. Disappointed, I must admit, to see the hair isn't real."

Peter frowned.

"You've seen my show?"

"Just the ads, I'm afraid. They are ever present in this place."

"Pity. Well, you know, give me your name and I'll get you a free ticket. Least I can do for not being digested by a vampire right now."

The man gave a short laugh.

"Generous. Very well, then. I'm Lucian."

"No last name?"

"No. They weren't that important in the 1200s."

There was something in Lucian's voice, some emotion Peter couldn't quite place, but it didn't seem like it was his place to ask.

They were quiet for the next little while, with the exception of the directions Lucian gave. Peter thought that, for a monster, Lucian seemed like a pretty nice guy. Bit grumpy, sure, tendency to turn into a giant wolf monster, yeah, all right, a little weird, but on the whole? Surprisingly chill. And clearly the right guy to have on your side in a fight.

"It's here," Lucian told him, and Peter slowed to a halt outside a particularly run down building. 

It was covered in graffiti no one had bothered trying to paint over, and the bins outside were overflowing. Most of the windows on the ground floor looked broken, and had either been boarded up from the inside, or had cardboard taped over the holes.

"Nice place," Peter joked, "why live in such a shithole? Thought you'd have like, 800 years worth of savings."

"Oh, I did, spent it all investing in swords, and then suddenly some pricks invented gunpowder and missiles and things."

"Really?"

"No. Vampires are the rich ones, just like in the films. Which is why no one likes them. Well, the murderous bloodsucking, too. And the terrible bat faces some of them have. Gruesome things, really. You've seen those, I imagine?"

"Yeah, not a fan of those, no," Peter agreed, though he wondered whether a giant wolf monster really had the moral high ground to call vampires ugly.

"Anyway," Lucian said, getting out of the car, "good luck not getting murdered by vampires."

And he was gone before Peter thought to say anything. 

When Peter got home to the penthouse, it was nearly dawn. He locked the door behind him, all five of the locks, he had gotten more careful since the vampire break in. Not even his assistant had access to all of the keys. He sunk to the floor, settling there, his back against the wall, his knees pulled up to his chest. Concentrated on his breathing the way his therapist had taught him to. It was fine. It was okay. He was alive. 

He hadn't felt like this after the two previous vampire hunts. They had gone easy, easier than he expected, which was why he had been careless. He hadn't even realised there were two vampires in the nest, he would have been dead if it wasn't for Lucian. 

"Fuck," he muttered, running a hand through his hair and grimacing at the smell. 

"Fuck," he added, forcing himself to get up.

He clicked a complicated pattern on the grid of switches by the door, and the lights went on. All the lights. He felt a bit ridiculous for it, but it helped remind him there were no places for vampires to hide, here. It got so silent at night. Silent and dark and vast, that was the problem with this flat. Too bloody big and cavernous, and yes, it fit his whole image, and it was pretty luxurious, but sometimes he just wanted to see all the edges, to be able to see the lack of vampires.

Sometimes he missed Ginger. Missed her telling him off and calling him an absurd asshole piece of shit and her laying next to him on the giant bed, both of them wasted, both safe and comfortable. He missed knowing that whatever sounds he heard was her. Being alone was worse than he had thought. It was lonelier. 

Lights on, lack of vampires safely confirmed, he walked into the bathroom, turned on the tap, and pried off his clothes. They clung with dried blood and gunk, things he didn't want to know what were. He would toss them out, he thought, who knew what nasty shit was in vampire guts. Why couldn't the nasty things turn to dust, like on Buffy? That seemed way easier, clean-up-wise. All you needed was a Roomba.

When the tub was full and steaming, he poured in stuff from all the various bottles stashed around the edge, and the single bath bomb. The water turned a muddled, glittery bubbly mess, and it smelled strongly enough that it distracted from the pile of garbage clothes on the floor. He sank into the warmth of it, briefly submerging himself completely to rub the blood out of his hair. The water turned a less pleasant colour, though the glitter remained. This, he thought, seemed like it was a metaphor for something, but he was too tired to think about what.

He stayed in the tub until the water got uncomfortably cold, then showered off the worst of the various soaps. The bathroom smelled like Ginger. Hmm. Bad thought. He stood in front of the mirror and rubbed at the remains of eyeliner. Tired. Poured some antiseptic on a cotton pad, and dabbed at the cut on his forehead, wondering if he would be able to cover it up for tomorrow nights show, and if not, whether it was aesthetically pleasing enough to do a sort of more dangerous thing, cornered by vampires, overwhelmed, but then finding the strength, lighting them all on fire. 

Peter's therapist had asked him, once, whether the shows he did, defeating the evil monsters every night, was a way to feel in control of what had happened to him when he was little. As far as the world knew, his parents had been killed by an entirely mundane human murderer, but the point, it seemed, was the same. He had scoffed at it, obviously, it was nonsense, but sometimes the thought haunted him. The therapist had then gone on to talk about his alcohol consumption, and he had fired her and found a less judgemental one. His liver was the least of his concerns.

Right. Unconsciousness. He went to the bar, and poured himself a drink, swallowed it, and poured himself another, carrying it with him into the bedroom. This was healthy behaviour, he told the judgemental picture of his ex-therapist in his mind, and they could fuck right off.

Lying there, face mashed into his pillow, he thought of Lucian again. What a strange man. Coming here from the states to what? Fight vampires? Live in squalor? Perhaps he had a pack here, that seemed like a werewolfy thing to have. Lycan thing. Whatever. He'd have to read up on them, he hadn't come across anything on them in the books he had so far. Or perhaps he was a lone wolf. Dedicating his life to eradicating other monsters, fighting his own monstrous nature to be something better? No, that was too much like a comic book, not a real person.

Peter wondered what Lucian might look like when he had washed off all that grime. Maybe he was covered in scars, or perhaps werewolves had super healing powers. Maybe he'd look good in this bed. He had gotten a decent share of looking at him while they cleared out the vampire nest, and despite the awkwardness been glad that the transformation had ripped Lucian's clothes to shreds. Admittedly it seemed inconvenient for him, but Peter had appreciated the good long stare at the werewolf's ass he'd gotten in without being noticed. 

He was getting hard.

"Fuck," he muttered to himself, "shit."

Entirely unbidden, images of what Lucian might look like above him formed in his mind. Strong hands holding his hands above his head, perhaps. Or pretty lips wrapped around his cock. He stroked himself, imagining the hand belonged to someone else. Werewolves had to be strong, right, even in human form? He imagined Lucian pressing him up against the wall, that nice, big cock pressing into Peter's ass. Lucian above him, thrusting into him hard, losing control, just a little, eyes going blue, growing fangs.

That last bit was what got him, apparently, and he came hard, spilling over himself and the expensive sheets. Tomorrow Peter's problem. Another problem for tomorrow Peter was that he was apparently super into the thought of getting fucked by Lucian, the idea of him going just a bit feral in bed. He reached over to the night stand, and grabbed the remainder of his drink. Maybe he would forget all this by tomorrow. Yep, that was the plan. Wake up in the afternoon, do his show, and get high with some hot fans. Good plan. He rolled over onto his side, and fell asleep, managing not to dream of any naked werewolves at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit guys, that's the most comments I've gotten on anything in ages. Good way to motivate me to write faster and prioritise this story. So thank you! Knew this ship was where it was at.  
> Also, yes. The vampires vs werewolves war is also, as Rise of the Lycans taught us, a class war.


	3. November 7th, 2012, Las Vegas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Makes Important Decisions And Continues To Be Thirsty

The next time Peter went looking for a vampire, he met absolutely no hot werewolves. To be fair, he also met absolutely no vampires, either hot or room temperature. Bad info. Happens. So he stalked around an abandoned factory an hours drive away for half an hour, looking like an complete idiot, sneaking and hiding from no one, silvered stake in hand. He hoped he was right in assuming the dusty old cameras in the corners hadn’t been connected in ages.

There hadn’t been much supernatural activity cropping up in the area lately, at least nothing reported in the sources he checked. There was always some suspicious death or other, of course, and a handful of over eager amateur cryptozoologists (was there any other kind?) who thought they’d met ghosts or aliens or local lake monsters, but nothing that seemed even remotely real.

In his research, he had found a single source that mentioned the word lycan, at least in the right context. Plenty of results for lycantrophes, of course, but largely those only referred to more traditional werewolves. That one source, though, a book from the 1750s, had a brief mention of them. It was a local history, of sorts, chronicling old stories from Brașov and the surrounding areas. Mostly it dealt with mundane things, and a large proportion of it, naturally, discussed Vlad Tșepeș, but a small section detailed a legend of wolf men, and their relationship with local vampires. From the story, which was poorly translated, and difficult to understand fully, it became clear that the wolves had been the servants of the vampires, their loyal dogs. Ah. That made sense, then. The story also said they had all died in the late 1300s, which seemed unlikely, as he'd clearly met one. He would have to get more sources. Maybe ask Lucian about it, if he ever saw him again. Peter found that he hoped he would. He did know, after all, where the man lived, so if he felt desperate enough he could pay him a visit. He wouldn’t. Couldn’t. That was too much.

Lucian had continued to, uh, surface in his thoughts, occasionally. Which was fine. It was fine. Mostly. Bit awkward that time he did so while Peter was in the middle of having quite good sex with one of the ladies playing a vampire in his show (Zoe? Definitely either Zoe or April. Probably.), and he might, accidentally, have groaned the werewolf's name as he came. But it was fine. Zoe/April hadn't expected him to be emotionally invested. Probably. To be fair, he hadn't asked. There hadn't, frankly, been an awful lot of talking involved. Best that way.

He had become, in that year since the whole Jerry business, less and less invested in his show. Or at least he had greatly prioritised his research into the paranormal a bit more. He had felt like he ought to, if he were to be hunting down the ones he heard of. Knowledge was the best weapon when you couldn't fill a watergun with holy water. Which, that had been weird, hadn't it? Lucian saying holy water didn't work? Because that had definitely worked on Jerry. And that particular breed of vampire was from Southern Europe, so it wasn't like it was some America only thing. Perhaps the ones that hung around Transylvania were different. Shit, could the man be any more stereotypical than a monster from Dracula land? He should get him to join his show. Have a one night a month special, featuring a werewolf. Wolf would have to lose, of course, it was what the audience expected. Could be a morally greyer thing, though. Man succumbs to his own monstrous nature, but holds back long enough to help the hunter kill the vampires. Ah, if only. Couldn't exactly pass that transformation off as stage effects. But it would have made for a good show.

One of the people Peter had contacted, an expert on Eastern European folklore, got back to him a few days later. He had heard slightly more of the lycans, but said most of it was on smaller local fora, dedicated to more modern sightings. The word graffitied on walls within the confines of a painted circle, like a full moon. Which seemed odd, not like the kind of thing the lycans themselves would do, surely? Blurry photos of what could have been a wolf or a bear or someone dressed like Bigfoot. Bloody pawprints in the metro, clearly canine in shape, but far too large to be the natural kind. Remains of what was assumed to be a gang war, but the evidence didn't quite work out, didn't seem entirely within the realm of human possibility.

There was no other way, Peter thought. He needed to know more, if he was to continue hunting vampires, and he intended to. Not necessarily ones in Europe, though he was, he supposed, overdue for a trip home. But still. Clearly the books and academics didn't have all the answers. No. He was going to have to ask someone who _knew_ , someone with _experience_. Someone like an eight century old vampire hunting werewolf.

Now this wasn't _just_ professional interest, Peter could admit that to himself, although it was certainly highly relevant for both of his careers. But seeking Lucian out? That ought to work out nicely for both of his interests, he hoped. Not that he was going to show up at his door, no, that was too forward. No, he'd just step up his monitoring of paranormal activity, seek out every vampire sighting he saw, not just the ones that sounded both plausible and not too horrifically scary and overwhelming. He'd be more careful this time. Do stake outs. Hah, stake outs. Because vampires? He was an entertainment genius, the critics could say whatever they wanted. Anyway, he could spend some time watching the places, not just go rushing in brandishing a flamethrower and garlic. Yeah, yeah, good. This was a solid plan. He was going to become a better vampire hunter, and, if it went according to plan, get laid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did like an hour of research for this and included precisely 0% of what I found.


	4. December 8th, On The Outskirts Of Vegas, Just Outside A Verified Vampire Nest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter turns plan into action. Hot hot action.

It wasn’t until early December that Peter’s plan succeeded. He wasn’t near to giving up, not yet, but he had started to consider that the werewolf might have moved on. Maybe the supply of vampires here had been exhausted, or perhaps he had just wanted to go back to Europe. He didn’t, frankly, seem like the Vegas type, though Peter knew little of werewolf preferences in terms of territory. In his head there were usually more forests involved than deserts, but that might be a negative stereotype.

So he came here, to this shitty looking place. That seemed to be what they have in common, these vampires (and the one werewolf), a fondness for living in terrible places. This was… Peter wasn’t entirely sure what it was. A long flat-ish building that looked like it might have once been some sort of institution. Faded signs he couldn’t read, an air of rotted sterility. Something once clinically pristine having gone to decay, the white now a dark and muddy grey, the clean lines of the building covered up with shitty graffiti.

Peter’s Stake-Out Kit included a small pair of binoculars, five Stake-Out stakes (two featuring a silver core), a spray bottle of holy water, a garland of garlic, an assortment of wooden and silver crucifixes (the foot end sharpened so it was, essentially, a Jesus dagger), a camera with the biggest and most expensive zoomy lens the pained and frustrated looking electronics shop employee would sell him, an assortment of granola bars, a flask of vodka, a thermos of black coffee and a bottle of (unholy) water. He also had an oversized and highly caffeined sugary nonsense drink, about half of which he spilled on himself when someone knocked on the window of his car.

Peter swore, and turned to see Lucian looking at him, amused without a trace of smugness, which somehow made it worse. He opened the window.

“Spotted any vampires?”

Peter glared at him, partly because his jeans were soaked in mocha, partly to cover up that he was happy to see him.

“Not yet.”

He nodded vaguely in the opposite direction, and Lucian seemed to understand, coming round the car and getting into the passenger seat, dumping the Stake-Out Kit bag in the back seat. He was not naked this time, which, well, it would have been unreasonable to expect him to be, were Peter being honest with himself. He rarely was, and so he felt the smallest tinge of disappointment. The werewolf wore dark trousers, a dark shirt and a dark brown leather coat with a fur collar. Very wolfy, that, Peter thought, very on brand. Perhaps it was important to him. The top few buttons of his shirt were open, revealing an amulet covered in intricate patterns, a green stone in the centre. Weird choice of accessory, but Peter, in his old dirty jeans and tracksuit top, supposed he wasn’t in a position to be judging anyone’s fashion. Was this a prime outfit for seducing the hot werewolf? No. But Lucian seemed like the sort of guy who might find him even more ridiculous than he already did if he showed up in too nice clothes, or, worse, his stage costume, which, though infinitely impractical, would have been thematically and aesthetically on point.

“Killed many bloodsuckers since last time?”

Lucian’s tone was light and conversational, and Peter didn’t quite know how to react to it. The tone wasn’t mocking, but the words felt like they might be.

“Nah,” he replied, “haven’t managed to find any. One or two abandoned nests. Not found anything more, sighting wise. But I’ve not got any supernatural connections to pull from. Are there, you know. Secret message boards for m- err. Humanity challenged humanoids?”

“Good save,” Lucian said, with half a smile, “but no, no secret monster fora. Just more experience. Also, I can smell them a literal mile away. It helps.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine, I am aware of our role as mindless movie monsters in your culture. All of it wildly incorrect, of course, but understandable nonetheless.”

Peter thought he detected just a hint of sadness in Lucian’s voice.

“So it’s the opposite, then? In films the werewolves are the animalistic monsters while the vampires get to be sexy and sophisticated in castles, and in real life it’s the other way around?”

And Lucian laughed at that, which was the goal. He had a good laugh. Good smile, too, eyes and cheeks all crinkled up. It was cute. 

“Depends on what kinds of werewolves and vampires you’re talking about, I suppose. But for the ones that seem to nest in these parts, yes, that does seem to be the case. And I am, of course, sexy and sophisticated and did grow up in a castle.”

He smiled, a little wistfully, perhaps, but still a smile, and so it seemed safe to ask.

“A castle, really? So, werewolf royalty?”

Another laugh, this time shorter, harsher, a bark. Bitter.

“Hardly. I was born into slavery. Lived that way for over two hundred years. But the castle was my fortress, briefly, even if by that point it was less impressive than under the previous management.”

“Shit,” Peter muttered, “shit, that’s terrible.”

“Yes,” Lucian agreed, “so you can see why I’ve somewhat of a personal vendetta against the vampires.”

“Oh, yeah, I can absolutely understand that.”

He paused, took a sip of what remained of his coffee adjacent drink, then a deep breath.

“Vampire killed my family when I was little. Only survived by hiding. Then, twenty five years later, the same- the same fucking vampire kills my girlfriend and co-star. That one’s dead, though. First one I killed. Well, helped kill. Same difference.”

He stared into the dashboard in the silence, then felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, Lucian was looking at him, understanding in his eyes, sympathy.

“I’m sorry. Believe me, I understand the need to enact vengeance on them.”

“Yeah, uh, yeah, same. I was… I was actually hoping, if you could, if you wanted… Whether you could teach me some stuff about vampires? Only, everything I know comes from humans, and, to be honest, they’re mostly academics and such, not so much hunters. So it’s… It might not necessarily be accurate. Or might not count for all of them.”

“I’ll pay you for your time, of course,” he added, when Lucian didn’t immediately reply.

“Unless you’re leaving town?” he said, when the werewolf yet again failed to respond.

“No,” Lucian said, at last, “no, not leaving. I, ah. Well, tell you what, let’s see how it goes tonight? I’ll see if you have some potential. Otherwise I’d just feel responsible when you immediately get yourself killed.”

“Eh, fair enough,” Peter agreed.

“So, d’you think this nest is still active, then? Since you’re here?”

Lucian nodded.

“Tracked one of them back here. Was just going in when I saw you, thought I’d check in. These vampires are fairly strong, but I don’t think there’s more than one in here. These aren’t the social kind.”

“So if we’re two we have the advantage, then?”

“I suppose we do. You’ve brought weapons, I assume?”

“Lots. Any particular strengths or weaknesses these ones have that I should know about?”

Lucian shrugged.

“Garlic’s still pointless. Might as well toss a bag of pebbles at them and expect them to spend hours counting them all. Myth. Well, they wouldn’t feel great if they ate it, but that’s because their bodies can only usefully process blood. But it won’t keep them from biting you or anything. Silver’s not going to work, that’s us, I’m afraid. Stakes are good. Fire is good. UV-light is the best, but it’s hard to find any that are manoeuvrable and portable enough to work as efficient weapons. Flamethrower would be good. Flamethrowers are always good. And beheading is always a classic.”

He made some small sharp movement with his wrist, and a nearly foot long blade shot out of his sleeve.

“Nice,” Peter said, impressed and very slightly turned on.

“They heal quite fast, but if you sever the spinal cord, enough that it can’t sort of regenerate itself together again, that usually works for most of the different kinds.”

“And none of them turn into clouds of dust when they die?”

“Only if they- if they’re burnt alive. And more… more like- Anyway. Get your weapons out, hunter, I think the vampire’s had enough time to get cozy in there.”

“Sure,” Peter said, ignoring the sudden shift in tone and subject. 

He grabbed the things that seemed to be useful, which seemed mostly to be his stakes. He took the shotgun he had taken to keeping in the car, as well. Metal projectiles might not be enough to kill a vampire, but at close range it was definitely enough to briefly stun them. If he got lucky he might get their eyes, and even vampire eyes were still basically balls of optical jelly, and fairly vulnerable to destruction by shot, however able to heal they might be.

Peter let Lucian take the lead as they headed into the building. His instincts seemed to have been right; it did look like it had used to be some sort of home. Lots of little rooms where stripped bed bases rested under heavy layers of dust. In some the windows had been broken, and in one of them some bird seemed to have made a nest in an old arm chair. Clearly, though, birds and vampires weren’t the only people there. The spaces around medicine cabinets were covered in broken glass, syringes on the floor, all medication gone. 

Lucian lead them through the corridors, covering the ground floor first, then moving up. They were probably in the basement, he had said, before they’d gone in, but they ought to check the upper floors just in case. They found nothing but more broken windows, miscellaneous trash left over from whoever had broken in previously. Drug addicts, perhaps, or urban explorers just starting out, or just teens wanting some space to practise their graffiti.

Basement, then. They descended the stairs, the ones at the far side of the building, the ones that were, hopefully, the least obvious. The lights were out, which, while it was fine for Lucian, and probably for the vampires too, was a problem for Peter, and he made a mental note to buy a pair of night vision goggles. It wasn’t completely dark, but he spent most of his concentration on trying not to bump into things, not to give away their position. And then he failed, stumbling and knocking over a cart of various medical implements that clattered and crashed to the ground. Peter couldn’t see Lucian’s face, but he suspected it was, currently, one of annoyance. Fuck. This wasn’t the plan at all.

He scrambled to his feet, staying low, as quiet as he could, though his heart was in his throat and he was breathing hard. Moving quietly was not an option, now, the floor all crushed glass and small metal things, noisy and easily moved. So he did the only rational thing, really, the only thing he could think of, and pulled out his flash-light, flicking it on. It wasn’t particularly bright, not really, but his eyes had gotten used enough to the dark that it still made his eyes water. 

In the newly dimly lit corridor he could see Lucian had moved further down, and was making a gesture at Peter, indicating for him to follow as he ducked into one of the rooms. And Peter had every intention of following, he really had, but there was a noise behind him, and he turned, gasping for a weapon, before the shape behind him lunged. 

The thing, the vampire, knocked Peter to the ground, breath leaving him. It’s face was contorted, the skin deathly pale, dark veins clearly visible through it. Completely black eyes looked down at him, looking hungry. Peter had gotten a decent grip on his shotgun, and was angling it towards the vampire’s abdomen, managing to fire it just as something hit his head, and the world blinked out of existence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took much longer than the other updates, huh. Sorry about that. Lot of stuff to do. Freelance jobs + part time job + full time uni is taking more time and work than I was entirely prepared for, because I am incapable of forethought. Still. I'll try.


	5. December 8th, On The Outskirts Of Vegas, Deep Inside A Verified Vampire Nest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vampire attac, Wolf protecc

The room Lucian opened was dark and stank of old blood. There were splotches of it on the walls, the floor, everywhere, and the sources of it had, as far as his nose could tell, only very recently been removed. He wondered where the vampire has stashed the corpses. Wondered where it was. It was clear that this was close to the centre of the nest, and he had watched the vampire enter just twenty minutes ago, so it had to-

There was a loud thump from the corridor outside, followed by a yelp, and a shot. Fuck. He darted back out to see the vampire hovering over the human, fangs bared. Peter wasn’t moving, which wasn’t ideal, but Lucian could see from the gaping hole in the vampire’s torso that he had at least gotten a good hit in, even if not with anything particularly useful.

The vampire was facing him, so there was no sneaking up on it, and he couldn’t afford the time to go around, not with the human there. His main concern when it came to vampires might not be saving humans, but he _liked_ Peter. He wasn’t a particularly talented vampire hunter, but given time and the chance to survive he might improve, and Lucian caught himself thinking he might like to see that happen. So. Keep the human alive.

“Hey,” he shouted at the vampire, picking up the nearest thing he could find (an empty medicine bottle) and tossing it at the creature.

It hissed at him, a choked and hoarse sound, designed to terrorise, to show off a mouth full of needles. He growled back. It wasn’t quite as impressive in his human form, but still not a noise any normal human throat could make. He flicked his wrist in just the right way, releasing the blade strapped to it. Good as any short sword, really. Undroppable, which was good.

“Come on, bloodsucker, fight someone on your own level,” he taunted the vampire.

Well, tempted, really. The thing seemed reluctant to leave its meal, and Lucian could understand, could smell Peter’s blood from where he stood. So he advanced, though he would rather have drawn the vampire closer, gotten it farther from where Peter lay in a crumpled heap on the floor.

“Are you protecting the human?” the vampire hissed, “how noble.”

Lucian growled at it again, advancing slowly but surely, blade ready. He should be engaging the vampire, distracting it, making his plan of attack easier, but his heart just wasn’t in it, and so, when he got close enough, he lunged at the vampire. It threw him aside easily, but he rolled, turning, lunged again, this time opening a wide gash in the vampire’s side. More importantly, he was now between the vampire and the human, free to press the oversized bat further away.

There was a faint scuffling sound behind him, some mumbling so vague and muffled even his lycan hearing could not pick it out. Peter was conscious. Good. Lucian had the vague idea that being unconscious for significant amounts of time was unfortunate for humans, though he couldn’t remember why. They were so very fragile creatures.

The vampire came at him, fangs bared, and he meant to dodge, he really did, but he heard Peter moan in pain, and it distracted him just enough that the creature knocked him to the ground. He struggled for a moment, the arm with the blade pinned, the other fumbling behind him for some sort of weapon. His fingers closed around what felt like a shard of glass, and he brought it forward, jamming it into the vampires eye, which popped and oozed grotesquely. The vampire howled, rearing back enough that Lucian’s arm was freed, and he stabbed the creature, burying the blade deep in its guts. 

It wasn’t doing great, now, between the stabbings and the gaping gunshot wound, its stolen blood leaking out, and with it its power. Lucian scrambled, got to his feet, and went after it, letting his fangs grow, his eyes go pale. He could take this one down without fully transforming, he was pretty sure. He really liked this coat, and he’d rather not ruin another one quite so soon. The vampire was considering retreat, now, he could see that. Blood and optical jelly oozed from its eye socket, and it was moving slow. Lucian took advantage of it, closing in, blade ready, feinting, managing to jam the blade into the vampire’s throat. It sputtered, choking on the metal, flailing wildly, but not more so than that Lucian was able to yank his blade out, and then neatly decapitate it.

As the undead creature collapsed, shuddering, dying, he hurried over to Peter. Alive, good. Awake, also good. He grabbed one of the stakes the human had strapped to his chest like some ridiculous action film hero, and returned to the vampire, forcing the stake through its heart, and then kicking the head into another room and closing the door for good measure. It was dead, proper dead, he was fairly certain, but it never hurt to be too safe.

He returned to Peter, crouching down next to him. The human’s eyes seemed to struggle with focus, and his body rested, slack against the wall.

“Hey, hunter, you doing okay?”

There was that faint smell again, that hint of _something_ not quite right. He checked Peter’s exposed skin, looking for some sign of a bite, but could find none. There was a cut on the side of his head, but that seemed to be from hitting the edge of a table as he had fallen over.

“Hot werewolf man!” Peter exclaimed, a solid half minute after Lucian’s questions, grinning and making eye contact with the space three inches to the left of Lucian’s head, “did… Did you see the vampire? Shot it. Shot it good. ‘S it dead?”

Lucian couldn’t help a grin creeping onto his face.

“Yes, the vampire’s dead. How’s your head?”

Peter, still grinning, still not managing to quite look at him, although clearly not for lack of trying, took another good long while to process what he said enough to formulate an answer.

“Not good!” he replied at last, though very enthusiastically.

“All right. You just- just wait here, while I try to get rid of the vampire corpse, all-right?”

Peter nodded, eventually.

“Should- should ask you to teach me how to kill vampires all good like you,” he said to the space where Lucian had been a minute before.

The human’s speech was a little slurred, and his head was quite clearly not right. Which wasn’t ideal. Lucian couldn’t just leave him here. The human wasn’t- shouldn’t be his responsibility, but-

“Shit,” Lucian muttered as he kicked all the pieces of vampire into a pile.

He searched through the rooms until he found what he was looking for; a container of sterilising alcohol that had rolled under a bed, and so remained unlooted. Excellent. He poured it over the pile of vampiric remains.

Light. Peter smelled faintly of smoke, he probably had a lighter. Lucian went back to him, crouching down in front of him and asked for one, once, twice, but the human seemed too dazed to quite understand him, so he just rooted through his pockets until he found what he was looking for. He flicked the lighter on, and tossed it onto the vampire corpse, and the fire blazed. 

“Come on, lets get you up,” he said, half lifting Peter up to a standing position, and catching him as he almost immediately started to fall.

“You’re such a nice monster,” Peter told him, and obediently leaned on Lucian’s shoulder as they made their slow way out.


	6. December 10th, Night, Somewhere In The Depressingly Shitty Part Of Vegas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is, very literally, only one bed.

Peter sauntered vaguely upwards towards consciousness. This was a challenging task, as he kept getting waylaid by strange and distracting dreams, in which some great being was chasing him, where he had to hide, to keep out of sight, just like when he was a child. Still, he breached the surface of wakefulness eventually, and immediately regretted it. His head hurt. Hurt like fuck. Like someone had used a hammer on it. Maybe that was what had happened?

There was light, warm sunlight, out there, somewhere beyond his eyelids. He wondered if it would hurt. He opened one eye, just barely, but that was worse, that was so much worse. The darkness was the safe place, he decided, and let himself sink down into it again.

The next time Peter woke, it was dark. Safe. Good. His head was still pounding, and when he moved his face at all there was a sharp pain from just beyond his right temple. A crusty, tearing feeling when he made the mistake of yawning. That didn’t feel ideal. He opened one eye carefully, and, having ensured it was dark and safe, the other. There was enough of a glow from somewhere to see by, but not enough to be painful.

The room was not a familiar one. He was in a bed, which made sense, because he felt like he had slept, had done so for far too long, his back aching in that way that meant he really needed to get up and get ready for his show. It was definitely not his bed, though, because it felt weird, too hard, the lumps in the mattress in all the wrong places. To his right was a night-stand, upon which was a box of painkillers and a bottle of water. Nice. Good. He took a few of the tablets, just one or two more than he was meant to, and swallowed them down. 

Sitting up was an arduous process, but he succeeded at last, although he had to close his eyes for a minute or two against the pain. Maybe he should have waited till the painkillers had had time to work. The room he was largish, but fairly empty. The bed he was in was in one corner, next to a door. There was a large, ornately carved chest sitting next to it, which didn’t seem to fit in with the rest of the décor. In the other end of the room, which seemed to comprise 90% of a small flat, was a kitchen. In the middle was a coffee table covered in papers, a laptop and several empty mugs and bottles. Next to it was a sofa, on which Lucian was curled up, seemingly sleeping. Ah.

The events of the vampire hunt started coming back to Peter. Meeting Lucian outside the nest, exploring it with him, getting attacked by a vampire… But what had happened after? Evidence strongly suggested that he had been knocked out by something hitting his head. Had Lucian brought him back to his flat? He must have, that chest looked like something an 800 year old might own. Maybe it was full of vampire hunting weapons. Or garlic. Crosses? Still, it was nice of him. Giving up his own bed? That sofa was definitely too short for him to be comfortable. Saving his life, too. Again. Peter really wasn’t doing a terribly good job seducing him with his vampire hunting skills, was he?

“Shit,” he muttered, and coughed.

Feeling like he hadn’t spoken in days, but it had been light the last time he woke, so it could only be the next night, surely? He felt in his pocket for his phone, but it wasn’t there. Lucian had taken all his weapons of, as well as his jacket and shoes, leaving him in jeans and a t-shirt. Maybe he wasn’t interested enough to undress him all the way? Ridiculous, he thought at himself, stupid. Lucian was being a normal respectful person. No reason to read anything into it. If he needed straws to grasp at he could focus on the fact the wolfman had brought him back to his own place, instead of just dumping him at the ER or something. 

With tremendous effort, Peter swung his legs over the edge of the bed, resting there a minute before pushing himself to his feet. He took a single step, and immediately crashed to the floor, cursing. There was a snarl from somewhere above him, the sound of someone vaulting over a table and knocking a bottle to the floor. Then, a few seconds of silence, followed by a muffled “oh.”

The sound of footsteps, a hand on Peter’s shoulder, a few strands of dark brown hair falling down into his field of vision.

“You okay?”

“Mngff,” Peter replied.

“Don’t know,” he added, “head bad.”

“Yes,” Lucian agreed, “head bad. The internet says you have a concussion.”

He grabbed Peter by the shoulders, lifting him more than helping him to his feet. If Peter had been in a slightly better state he might have let himself dwell on how close Lucian was, the way heat radiated off him, the way he smelled. As it was, his entire concentration was on trying not to fall down again. Lucian helped him over to the sofa, and he sat down. Well, collapsed into a sitting position, same difference. Lucian sat down beside him.

“How do you feel?”

Peter gave it some thought. 

“A bit like someone used my head as a punching bag,” he concluded.

“What happened last night?”

“Last night?” Lucian asked, “absolutely nothing. You’ve been out two days. Mostly sleeping, not unconscious.”

Peter took a moment to process this.

“Fuck,” he said at last. 

“I’ve missed two shows. It’s- Fuck, they’re gonna be looking for me, I-”

His voice was getting a little frantic despite himself, but Lucian shushed him.

“They’re not. Used your mobile to send your assistant a message saying you were going to be away for a day or two for a family emergency.”

“Oh,” Peter said, calmed for a second, “but she knows I don’t have a family.”

Lucian shrugged.

“Probably thinks you’re lying and too fucked up on something to perform, then. Either way. Not missing.”

“Hey, I- Well, okay. Thanks, I guess. And thanks for, you know, not letting that vampire eat me. And not just leaving me there to be found by the police.”

Lucian shrugged again.

“Been more trouble if someone else found you. You were pretty out of it, might have told someone about me. You kept rambling. Told me a lot about some child named Charlie?”

“Oh. Uh, right. Sorry, sorry about that.”

Lucian waved away his apology.

“Wait,” he said, “wait hold on, how’d you get into my phone?”

Lucian looked at him for a moment.

“Your code is 6969. It’s hardly difficult.”

“Oh. Right.”

Peter looked pointedly anywhere but at Lucian’s amused face.

“Besides,” Lucian said, “I needed to figure something out.”

“Yeah?”

Peter was still not quite looking at him.

“Why do you smell like vampire?”

“Hey,” Peter protested, “I do not.”

“You do,” Lucian insisted, “even before we went into the nest. There’s. Hmm. There’s a hint of it, all the time. You weren’t bitten down there, I checked, but still.”

A memory rose to the surface of Peter’s still murkily vague mind. Down in the earth, surrounded, covered in vampires, their teeth tearing into his skin. The feeling of all those mouths of him, the feeling of being devoured. Then, later, after so much life had been drained from him, the feeling of the sun’s warmth burning him, of smoke rising from his flesh just from the light.

“I, uh,” he began, looking down at his hands, “a vampire turned me. Once. Briefly. Just, like fifteen minutes, tops, then the kid, Charley, he, uh, he killed the vampire. Blessed stake. Reverted it. Squirming around, lots of pain, but the sun stopped hurting right away. Shouldn’t… Shouldn’t be any traces. Haven’t craved blood or been invisible in mirrors or stopped eating garlic or anything. Even got a tan, look.”

He pointed to his arm, which in the dark room was a sort of blueish grey. Lucian looked… well, intrigued, but that wasn’t quite it. Passionate in a mildly deranged way? Like he had had an exceptionally good idea which would end very badly indeed for Peter. Not quite hunger, but the cold impersonal hunger of a mad scientist who has just found his next guinea pig. It lasted only a moment before the werewolf shook his head, looked briefly towards the chest on the other side of the room, then back to Peter.

“Strange, but I suppose that makes sense. Some residue of it remaining in your blood, perhaps, just enough to be… Well. Noticeable.”

“You’d think fewer vampires would try to bite me, then. Would want to avoid anything close to cannibalism.”

“Maybe they would attempt to eat you less if you didn’t sneak into their nests,” Lucian suggested with just a hint of a grin.

“Eh, fair, I suppose.”

“Does this,” he asked after a moment, “mean you’re planning to kill me? For being slightly vampiric? Vampirish?”

Lucian looked mildly offended.

“If I was going to do that I wouldn’t have bothered taking you back here. Would have done it back at the nest. Or first time we met. Sensed it then, too. No. It’s not your fault, and you’re not doing any harm. At least not to anyone other than yourself. Besides, not all vampires are bad. Just… well. Not all.”

He sounded a little sad. His fingers traced over the carvings in the amulet he wore, motions sure, like it was something he did often.

“No?” he asked, tone carefully neutral.

“No,” Lucian said.

They were both quiet for a moment, the werewolf evidently lost in thought.

“I married a vampire once.”

Peter’s eyebrows rose, but he remained silent.

“She was the daughter of the man who owned me,” he continued.

“Huh. That’s seems pretty liberal of them?”

Lucian laughed, a short bitter noise.

“Hardly. Well, her, perhaps. We were the same age, had grown up, well, not together but. At the same time, in the same place. Known each other, to some extent, all our lives. I was the favourite, you see. The first lycan, the first of the wolves of Corvinus’ descendants to be able to take human form. So I was somewhat of a price.”

Peter didn’t know who the corvid man was, and didn’t ask. Lucian was clearly in the flow of what seemed like it might become a tragic backstory. Well, even more tragic than centuries of slavery already was. Which was, to him, incomprehensible. The time scale was more than he could comfortably think about, and so he didn’t.

“And she… She was a death dealer. A warrior princess. Deadly with a sword. Deadly all on her own. Beautiful and fierce and so- so _good_.”

Lucian stared into space, clearly reliving memories, Peter seemingly forgotten. He wanted to ask what a death dealer was, but it could wait. He could guess the gist of it. And Lucian clearly needed to talk about this. He must, Peter thought, be quite lonely. He didn’t seem to have a pack, or anyone. At least no one whose traces could be seen here. Perhaps he had left them behind in Europe. There would be time to ask later.

“Her father killed her for it. For wanting me. For carrying our- For choosing someone like me, someone beneath her.”

“I’m so sorry,” Peter said, and meant it, seeing the grief in Lucian’s face.

“But it… It’s fine, it’s over, it was six hundred years ago.”

It was, very clearly, absolutely not fine.

“And he’s dead, finally. Her father. Her killer.”

Peter wanted to say that he understood, that he knew how it felt, but of course he didn’t. He and Ginger, they, well. They hadn’t exactly been soulmates. They had been together, yes, and he had grieved her loss, but it was no centuries long romance. So he remained quiet, while Lucian got lost in thoughts of his past.

The werewolf convinced Peter to try and sleep some more, eventually, promising that he would drive him home in the morning.

Peter was feeling better by the time he was home the next day. Lucian had made him shower and eat, which had helped. He had promised that he would, as Peter had asked, help him get better at vampire hunting, train him. Had promised he would call him about it, but had insisted Peter took at least a week or two break for any non show business vampire activities. Had said something about not needing him around as dead weight, although Peter felt he would make perfectly serviceable vampire bait. Still, it was probably wise. But it didn’t keep Peter from feeling just a little bit lost when Lucian left him sitting in his car in the hotel’s parking lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep having to research when things came out, like phones and apps and whatever for this fic, because I spent 2012-2013 being super depressed and filled with panic attacks and I don't remember things like whether we had fingerprint locks on phones yet (not till 2013) or what references to events make sense. Why do I do this to myself. At least this is better than the other fic I'm writing featuring Lucian which is set in 2002, of which I remember not a lot because I was 11 and still largely only cared about pokemon.  
> Also I promise they will get to the smooching eventually.


	7. December 27th, 2012, Vegas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucian goes to see some light holiday entertainment, and delivers a mental monologue of exposition.

When Lucian sees Peter is doing his show over the holidays, he decides to go. He meant to, anyway, and it’s not like he has plans. No one who would miss him. And, well, given the fact of the performance, it’s clear Peter doesn’t either, and Lucian feels a little bit bad at the thought of the hunter performing for a near empty room. Although perhaps there are a lot of people in Vegas who don’t care. He’s only been in town for a few months, it is still a strange place.

It’s getting closer to the ten year anniversary now, of his near death. Well, his most recent near death, there have been many. But ten years since the war between the lycans and the vampires came to a head, since his pack was all but obliterated. It’s his fault. Well, not as much as it was the vampires’ fault, obviously, they’re at fault for everything, especially Victor, but Lucian made it worse. His obsession with the creation of a hybrid. He caught himself wondering, some times, whether Selene and Michael made it. 

That night, or some night, when he woke up on that slab on the boat, next to the other corpses, well, he only just managed to get off it, dive into the sea before it exploded. He didn’t have time to go back, to see what had happened. It was clear he was dead, his body destroyed, and with everything that had happened it seemed wise to lay low. He had gone back home, for a while, to Romania, to the Carpathian mountains where he was from. Not the fortress, of course. That was yet again infested with vampires, as it had been since they drove him out. No, he stayed in the deep forests, in the mountains. Spent a good deal of time in his wolf shape.

It wasn’t, of course, that his mind disappeared when he was wolf shaped. It was there, he had coherent thoughts, but those thoughts tended to centre more on hunting, on running. More instincts, less ruminations on his failings as a leader, as a protector. It was easier, although it couldn’t last. The world was too observant now, one couldn’t simply spend a decade living as an oversized bipedal wolf without someone somewhere trying to hunt or kill or film you.

He had travelled around Europe for a while after. Spent summers in the north of Scandinavia, where the sun never set, guaranteeing the absence of vampires, and there were plenty of vast, empty spaces where an oversized wolf could hunt reindeer with little competition. He travelled south again when the sun finally set. Went down, South through France, stopping briefly in Gévaudan, feeling a certain kinship with the local beast, and then further still. 

It wasn’t until around 2007 he started looking for vampires again. He didn’t go back to Hungary, but instead sought other strains of the vampiric gene. Fought and killed them not because they were the ones that had enslaved him, but because they were creatures of evil. Was he one too? He hadn’t decided. If he were, it would not be because he was a lycan, but because of what he had lost. He made sure, of course, to only go after the vampires who hunted humans. Even the ones back home rarely did. Synthetic blood, animal blood, willingly given donations (or robbed bloodbanks, which, technically, were willing donations, just not to the actual vampires themselves), that was. Well. It wasn’t something he could justify killing over, not outside of the war. But he could admit to himself, now, years later, that his motive was a frustrated need for revenge, and nothing more.

He fussed more over his appearance than he usually did before he headed towards the sparklier part of the city. His hair went up into a bun, in an attempt to read more like a hipster goth than a homeless one. Meticulously checked his clothes for bloodstains, and excluded the ones with too many tears or claw marks. Looked at himself in the mirror for a few moments. Fine, it was fine, he looked fine.

The place was big, bright, lit up in a multitude of colours, and so, getting there, it was easy to follow the cold blues and halloween style spooky décor to Peter’s show. It felt, like all the “scary” things humans invented, like it was mocking him. But it wasn’t, he assured himself. It was mocking vampires, which was okay. Mocking vampires like Victor, self important pieces of shit, cruel and thoughtless monsters whose only desire was their own power.

Lucian dug through his pockets, searching for the note Peter had insisted on giving him when last they met. It was good for a ticket “just whenever” he’d said, there was apparently a system in place, which was confirmed when the girl checking tickets rolled her eyes.

“Another?”

Lucian wasn’t quite sure whether to be offended.

“He gives these out a lot, then?”

“Every pretty face he meets, it feels like.”

She looked him up and down, appraising.

“You don’t seem like his usual type, though. Bit, uh, rougher.”

Lucian raised his eyebrows.

“No, no not a bad thing. Anyway, enjoy the show,” she told him with a wink, before greeting the person behind him, whose foot he could hear impatiently tapping.

Well, that conversation neatly answered one question, at least.

Lucian made his way into the dark theatre, where cartoonish spiderwebs were broken up by crosses and gravestones, placed in neat little tableaux around the room. There were lights for people to find their way to their seats, but they too were cold, spooky, playing with the smoke that was pouring out from some hidden machine. It was, in Lucian’s opinion, a bit much.

Despite the show being scheduled to start in less than five minutes, the seats were less than halfway filled, and Lucian had most of a row to himself, a little to the right, near the centre. He thought he’d have earned first row for saving the hunter’s life, but it was fine.

A few minutes later, the lights all went out, and an ominous music sounded, volume rising steadily, as lights hit the smoke, pouring across the scene with renewed vigour. The front of what appeared to be supposed to be a mausoleum became visible, and a scene played out of a few vampires, all beautiful women in gauzy white outfits barely approaching decency luring an innocent human into their lair. The vampires’ eastern European accents were surprisingly authentic, he thought, though a bit to vague for him to pinpoint precisely.

Then. Then Peter came on stage. And look, Lucian had seen photos of him in costume before, but he found he wasn’t fully prepared for how it looked in real life. The excruciatingly tight leather trousers, the dramatic dark coat and no shirt look. Combined with the wig and fake beard, well. It almost felt like Peter was making a point about the way certain lycans looked when taking the fortress of their vampiric oppressors. Which was ridiculous, that had happened nearly six centuries before the human was born. But the look on Peter was not bad. Theatrical and over the top, yes, entirely impractical for actual vampire hunting, absolutely, but clearly Peter, too, knew that. And Lucian found throughout the performance that his eyes slid downwards, lingering on Peter’s chest, on just how absurdly low his ridiculous trousers sat on his hips.

The show was, well. It was about what he had expected. The ads, credit to his PR people, did a good job of letting you know what to expect. Peter Vincent, vampire hunter. Unconvincing acting, flashy pyrotechnics, enough smoke to make Lucian’s throat a little irritated by the end. Still, the vampires were killed, going up in flames, and much fake blood was spilled. It was, he supposed, entertaining. Though less so, he would imagine, for the other audience members, who did not have personal experience with Peter’s actual attempts at vampire hunting.

Lucian was the only one to stand up to applaud when it was over, and, for good measure, he wolf whistled at Peter. A newer member of his pack had once pointed out that, technically, any whistling he did was wolf whistling. It served its purpose, though, got Peter to make eye contact with him and grin. Making a motion with his head that Lucian read as an invitation.

“So, you lure many innocent lycans up to your place with free tickets?” Lucian asked, as they rode the lift up to Peter’s penthouse.

“You’re the first.”

Peter was still wearing the full costume, and though up close it looked even less convincing, Lucian did have to admit it was an excellent look. He seemed, however, to be very aware of it, which just slightly ruined the effect with an air of smugness.

“Not what the employees here seem to think,” Lucian said.

“Oh? Oh! Oh, right, no, yeah, uh,” Peter replied, flustered in a way incongruous with the look he clearly had worked hard on.

It was, Lucian thought, terribly easy to make him just that little bit uncomfortable, to crack the shiny veneer of his stage persona. Lucian found he liked the person beneath it far better.

“Sorry,” Peter concluded, and Lucian shrugged the apology of.

“No need. Though I’m sorry to hear I’m not your type.”

Peter had a slightly panicked look about him, but was, to his apparent relief, saved by the lift finally arriving. The doors slid open to reveal a dark hall, looking more like a museum than anything else. Tall glass cases on pedestals displayed a variety of weapons and other artefacts, all to do with the occult. Lucian went up to one particularly nice crossbow, admiring the craftsmanship of it. Then, next to it, a stake, into which a prayer had been carved. On the right of that-

“Silver bullets, really? That’s not very welcoming.”

“Eeh,” Peter said, “I’m sure you’re not the only werewolf in Vegas. Best to stay safe. Besides. Much more anti vampire stuff here.”

He gestured grandly at the room, and, well, Lucian couldn’t argue with that. There were hidden knife crucifixes, an old apothecary style bottle promising to contain garlic infused holy water, a large selection of swords and daggers, and, aesthetically ill fitting but very useful, a UV lamp. Probably the most useful thing there.

Lucian went over to the swords, looking over them. Old, fairly old, clearly, and decent work, but uninspired. 

“Could forge you a better one, if you like,” he said.

“You make swords?”

“Used to. Was a blacksmith. Well, mostly swordsmith, really, but if you need horseshoes I could probably make you some decent ones. Been a while since last I tried, though. Guns have been all the rage for a while.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, “well. Distance and such. Good.”

“They are… More efficient, I suppose,” Lucian agreed, “though I always preferred swords. Getting up close. Looking your foe in the eye as you kill them. Feels more honest.”

“Well, yeah, when you can turn into an unkillable wolf thing at a moments notice, sure, that’s good and all, but humans? We’re, you know. Squishy.”

“Oh, I’m very aware. How is your head? Been staying away from any real vampires since last we met, I hope?”

“Oh,” Peter said as Lucian followed him into the much less dark and ominous flat, “better, much better. And yeah, been staying safe. By the way, thank you. I don’t- I don’t think I thanked you for, you know. Saving me. Taking, uh, taking care of me and all that.”

He pulled his wig off, tossing it onto a chair, where it was quickly followed by the facial hair, and when he turned to look at Lucian the two oversized fake crucifix tattoos on his neck looked, well, a bit ridiculous. They did, however, match his eyeliner quite nicely.

“You did,” Lucian said, settling on one of the ridiculous caricature goth armchairs, the grouping of which looked out over the dark city, and nodding to Peter when he made a questioning motion in the direction of the small bar, “several times, each worried you had forgotten to. I do hope you saw a doctor about it. Although hopefully without telling them the circumstances of your injury.”

“Yeah. ‘S fine, it’s all fine. Preference?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re drinking,” Lucian said, mostly to hide the fact that he did not recognise any of the bottles artfully displayed along the bar.

His tastes were deliberately unrefined, in what started out as a political statement after throwing off his shackles, and then simply settled into laziness as the centuries went on.

Peter’s place was ostentatious in a way that felt very true to the character he was clearly trying to be. All ornate goth furniture with hints of rococo sensibilities, paired oddly with harsh concrete minimalist architecture, vast open windows and every overpriced luxury he could think of. There was a fireplace where others might have place a coffee table, which seemed absurd in the desert, where the winter barely got colder than an English summer. There was a potted plant in the corner, but it did not seem well cared for, surrounded by a circle of shrivelled, black leaves.

Peter returned, sitting down across from Lucian, and handed him a glass filled with ice and a suspiciously green liquid. 

“Tastes better than it looks,” Peter assured him with a grin.

He had peeled of the tattoos, now, and his coat hung open, the stiff fabric of it crinkling oddly against the confines of the chair, clearly intended for stage wear and nothing else. Perhaps Peter felt self conscious about being shirtless around him? Considering the amount he had seen Lucian naked when first they met, and his approach to shirts in his show, that seemed unlikely, but who knew. Humans were… strange. Not that lycans tended to walk around naked, but when you occasionally had to transform, shredding your clothes in the process, you got used to it. It was, after all, just your body. Or one aspect of it, at any rate.

“So,” Lucian said, taking a sip of the mystery drink and suppressing a shudder at the overwhelming sweetness of it, nearly drowning out the alcohol, “let’s talk about training you to be as good at killing vampires in real life as in your show.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter is absolutely a disaster bisexual and I now, apparently, love him. This is your fault, @hurtslikeyourmouth.


	8. December 19th, 2012, Vegas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter gets in touch with his feelings

“I think I met a guy,” Peter said, eventually, when he could no longer hold back the need to tell _someone_.

The someone he picked was sitting in the chair opposite him, watching him carefully, her clipboard put down on the table between them.

“Go on,” she encouraged eventually, when he failed to do so on his own.

Peter ran a hair through his hair, frustrated, though he was not entirely sure why. He often felt that way here. She told him it was because it was working, but he suspected she was only saying that to keep him coming back.

“He’s… Well, I like him. Like genuinely, as a person? I have…,” he shuddered, “ _feelings_ about him, I think. Not just, you know. I mean, he’s hot! He’s very hot, but he’s also _nice_? I think?”

She raised her eyebrows.

“And, well. He’s, uh. He’s sort of connected, right, to the kind of people who killed my mum and dad. And that’s… A bit weird.”

“The same criminal network?”

She didn’t know the truth, of course. No one did. Well, except Charley. Which meant probably Amy too. And Lucian, of course, now. She thought they were just your regular old robbers. He had been a bit vague about it, or as much as he could be when she insisted they spent the first two sessions talking about it.

“A, uh, rival one, I suppose. Or he used to be. Listen, it’s all good, there’s nothing- Nothing dangerous happening.”

“Is that,” she asks, looking over the rims of her glasses at him, “why you’ve got a bandage on your head?”

He opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again, and he could swear she looked just a little bit smug. Bastard.

“No, look, that was- Right so. I met him somewhere, right? By accident. Sort of. Been hoping to run into him, if I’m honest. And we went to this place- no, I’m not saying where, ‘s not important, all right? Just. Anyway. This bloke shows up, attempting to mug us, I guess, I didn’t- So I fall, right, hit my head on something sharp. And this guy, the guy I was there with, not the mugger, he looks after me? I was out of it for a while, but he takes me back to his place, right, and he looks after me? Lets me sleep in his bed for two straight days while I get better. And it’s uh. Don’t know. Feels weird.”

He ran a hand through his hair again, feeling awkward, brushed fingers against the bandage which could probably come off soon.

“Are you worried that this, this guy, that he did anything inappropriate to you while you were there, at his mercy, unconscious?” she asked, eyes narrowed just a little bit.

“What? No! Why would you ask me that? No! Gross.”

“All-right,” she said, held up a hand, “I just have to ask. I believe you.”

“Point is, he was nice to me. Took care of me even though he didn’t have to, could have just left me there.”

“And that’s what feels strange to you? Someone caring about you without being paid to? Without expecting something in return?”

Peter frowned.

“Maybe?”

She was silent for a moment, scribbling something down.

“By the way, did you go see a doctor about your head?”

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I? You’re a doctor.”

“Peter,” she said, with an air of defeat, “I have a phd. You know that’s not the same thing. I’m not a psychiatrist, I didn’t go to medical school, and even if I were, that would be inappropriate.”

“You’re no fun,” he muttered.

“It’s not my job to be fun, it’s-”

“To be a bit of an arsehole?”

She smiled, the bastard.

“Yes. They teach us that, you know. PSYC3091: How To Be An Asshole To Your Patients: A Clinical Perspective. Aced that one.”

He couldn’t help laughing at that, and she smiled again, looking just a bit self satisfied.

“But seriously, Peter, head injuries are a big deal, even concussions. Please talk to a real doctor.”

“I will,” he muttered, though he had no intention of doing so.

Taking care of himself was. Well. If it was nice, he did it. Got massages, yes, that was nice. Did yoga because the instructor was hot, and when you performed shirtless you had to do some sort of exercise, he had found, although primarily because otherwise his co-performers were quick to make fun of him for going soft around the edges. He ate healthy-ish only because the restaurant closest to his place did excellent food, and he could afford not to cook for himself again. He’d never been good at that. Never learned how to. It didn’t seem to have been much of a point, because he’d never expected to survive to get this close to 40, never mind old enough for life style choices to really start to catch up to him.

After his parents had been killed, having no close relatives who would agree to look after him, he was placed in a foster home. Spent over half a decade there, but never felt safe. He was sure the vampire would realise his mistake, would come back for him. Back to finish his work. And even after all the mandatory therapy, after he learnt to say that it was just regular humans who had killed them, he still knew. He had been old enough to recognise that this, this was a monster, a real one. With big sharp teeth, ready to eat him. So he never really stopped feeling like he was living on borrowed time, like it was just a matter of days or weeks before he too was eaten. It had lessened a little over the years, as he grew into adulthood, and even more so when he moved to the states. He had fervently hoped the thing about vampires being unable to cross running water was true. But he had never gotten over it, not really. How could he, when he knew it was real?

“Peter?”

He blinked.

“As much as I’m sure you enjoy paying to stare into space, our time is nearly up for today. Is there anything else you’d like to talk about before next week?”

“Yeah. D’you think if I sleep with him I’ll stop having all these feelings?”

She just looked at him for a moment.

“No. No, I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Shit. Might still try, though. You never know. Can’t hurt.”

She looked pained.

“I don’t suppose there is anything I can do to stop you. But you know, if you really like him, and he seems nice and not too terribly involved in anything illegal, I don’t think it’s a terrible idea. A relationship, I mean, not another one night stand, god knows you’ve enough of those. I know the last year has been particularly rough on you, and I’m sure having someone to be really, actually close to would help. Someone who isn’t a fan or a co-worker or someone you pay to be annoyed by.”

“So you’ll give me a doctor’s note saying he has to be my boyfriend?”

“Peter.”

“Kidding, kidding. I’ll- I’ll be careful about it. Sensible, even.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Well. I’ll try.”

“Good. And will you keep trying those exercises I gave you last week? I know they’re not easy, that’s why they’re exercise. But I really do think they will help, if you manage to.”

“I will,” he promised.

-

Peter’s brain was very helpful. For a week straight after he got home from staying at Lucian’s place, his mind kept inventing different ways it could have gone. What if there had been no sofa, and Lucian had to share the bed with him? What if, when he fell, and Lucian helped him up, they had looked deep into each others eyes, been drawn slowly together until their lips met? Those beautiful eyes had looked at him with such concern, and it was easy for his mind to change that into, well, more. 

It was frustrating, was the thing. It felt like his mind wasn’t his own, like it didn’t care at all what he wanted, except that of course what he wanted was Lucian. But he had been good. He had stayed away. Managed to mostly only think about him late at night, sometimes in the shower, often while touching himself. But he found himself, well, daydreaming, during breaks in rehearsals, during lunch. And the girls would catch him staring into his cup of coffee like it held the answers to the universe. They guessed what was up almost at once, of course, and were highly amused, trying to work out who had managed to get him to catch actual feelings. It was infuriating.

And then! And then Lucian had shown up, come to his show. Partially to make fun of him for all the factual inconsistencies and to tell him half of his weapons were useless, but still. He had come. He had, clearly, been flirting with Peter, who had, like an absolute and complete idiot, panicked. He wasn’t used to having feelings other than attraction for someone, not for a while. So he did what anyone would do, he drank too much liquor about it. 

Lucian had stayed till well over midnight, and they had talked. He had told him a little bit more about his past, but not much. It was clear, though, that this was more than he had shared with anyone in a long time. Peter learned that his pack had been dissolved, involuntarily, by vampires, a decade earlier, and that Lucian had been on his own since then. Travelling around, hunting vampires, staying away from civilisation a lot. And oh, Peter’s stupid infatuated heart ached for the lonely wolf.

He had told the werewolf more about himself, too. About how it had taken a couple of really insistent teenagers to get him to understand that maybe, just maybe, he needed to confront the monsters of his past in a real way, not just by turning it into a show four nights a week. How the certainty of his parents killer looking for him had haunted him for most of his life. Things he’d never told anyone, and probably wouldn’t have told Lucian were it not for his kind and understanding eyes, and also a good half a bottle of booze. 

Peter worried, for a little while after this, whether he had scared Lucian away, with his openness, but two weeks into January he got a text from an unknown number. Meet for training? It said, Sunday morning, I know a place. Bring swords. Text you the details. It was signed with a wolf emoji.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just had a bunch of good thoughts about plot last night which i am looking forward to writing. Fingers crossed I won't forget before I get that far. Have a good nearly double update on this the day of unrequited yearning, you guys. Well, two updates in less than 12 hours? That's gotta count as double. Go me.


	9. January 20th, 2013, An Abandoned Shack In The Desert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Training montage with 80s music

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terribly sorry if this double notifies or something, I messed up some formatting and didn't realise how to fix it until I'd already deleted the too short bad version I posted.

The sun was shining, doing its very best to penetrate Peter’s sunglasses. He was mildly regretting the amount of drinking and partying he had done the night before, because his head was doing, well, not great. He wanted another triple espresso quite badly, but he had already passed beyond where good coffee was available, out where houses were scares and there were mostly just rocks to be seen.

Lucian had sent him a series of texts, each containing only partial instructions, and Peter wasn’t entirely sure whether this was some misguided attempt at secrecy or whether the werewolf was working out the way while driving himself. Wherever it was, whatever radio station his car seemed to be stuck on had gotten through volume I of Queen’s Greatest Hits and was working its way through the second. Why in the fuck had he agreed to meeting at noon? It was way too early for any sane person to have to be anywhere this remote.

As the last notes of Who Wants To Live Forever faded away, he finally reached the end of the rough gravel road he’d been on for the last ten minutes, coming to a halt in front of what looked like an abandoned, and quite possibly haunted old shack. Squinting against the sun he spotted a dusty motorbike leaning against the far wall, and next to it a large bag which did not seem like it would fit well onto the bike. With the motor off, he could hear a strange scraping noise, whose source he could not locate. He grabbed his phone, and the key, and hopped out off the car, ignoring the door with the visibly broken lock in favour of walking around the house.

There, in the shade, Lucian was sitting, with some sort of strange rock thing and some water, and, most importantly, a large sword. His hair was tied back, which Peter privately thought was a very good look, and his shirt was halfway open, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. There was dust on his clothes, bright against dark fabric, except where the water had clearly splashed a little. Peter was grateful for his sunglasses, because otherwise Lucian would very definitely have seen him staring.

“Found the way all-right?” Lucian asked without looking up from what he was doing, which Peter assumed must be sharpening the sword.

“Y- uh. Yeah. Bit of a long drive this early, though. Do you, by any chance, have a coffee machine out here?”

Lucian looked at him for a moment, then at the shack, and then back to him.

“..No. Low on those.”

“Ah, shame. What is this place, anyway?”

“A sort of safe house. There are extensive cellars under there. Multiple exits, well hidden. Good place to lay low. Trust you weren’t followed?”

“What? What is this, a fucking spy film? No? I am barely awake, mate, and I was focusing on finding this place.” 

Lucian ran a hand through his hair which, what with it being tied back, only served to mess it up in an entirely unflattering way. Unflattering, but infuriatingly, stupidly endearing. God, he really had to get a handle on himself. Get the lycan into his bed, have a good shag, get it out of his system. Then focus on hunting the vampires.

But it was _hard_ was the fucking thing. He wanted to be his cool and charming and seductive self, that always worked on the men and women he invited into his bed, but for some stupid reason, when he got close to Lucian he just. He couldn’t. His brain refused to construct sentences properly, he kept almost getting himself killed and needing to be saved, and unless Lucian had a severe hero complex that was probably not the way to go about it. And, well, he had told him the love of his life was some kind of warrior princess of whom he, by the sounds of it, had been in awe. So damsel in distress, probably not the way to go, even if he did feel greatly distressed more than he preferred to lately.

“Fine, but if someone shows up and kills us both, that’s on you.”

Peter squinted at him through his glasses.

“We have a ton of swords.”

“I suppose,” Lucian agreed.

“Do you know how to use them at all?”

“’S why I’m here, isn’t it?” Peter said, and this was turning out slightly more confrontational than he had intended.

But Lucian smiled patiently, and put down the sharpening rock thing. He flipped the sword, holding it out towards Peter by the blade.

“Brought my own, like you said.”

“Yes, and no doubt some of them are good, but they are all… Somewhat specialised, shall we say. This is a good one to start with. Not too heavy, not too light. Easy to handle. It’s quite old, but still in excellent condition, I made sure.”

Peter grasped it by the hilt, lifting it up and watched the steel gleam in the sun. The pommel was a flat-ish disc, and carved into it was the silhouette of a wolf’s head.

“You made this?”

Lucian frowned at him for a moment.

“Oh, the wolf. No, happy coincidence. I haven’t had access to a forge in quite some time. There simply aren’t as many around as there used to be.”

He sounded wistful.

“I can imagine.”

Outside a renaissance fair, Peter couldn’t think of anywhere you would see one. Who even made swords these days? Someone had to because he kept finding them popping up in his recommendations on eBay. 

“Ready?”

“Uh,” Peter said, swinging his arm about a bit like they did on TV and almost dropping the sword, “sure, yeah.”

Lucian graciously did not laugh, merely looked amused as he went to find a sword for himself. They were not terribly long, clearly meant to be used one handed. Simple shapes, straight forward. Pointy bit into the enemy. Surely this couldn’t be all that hard? Peter wondered briefly whether he should have worn some sort of armour.

“Over here,” Lucian said, leading Peter to a flat empty area behind the shack, no rocks on which to stumble, just hard dirt and whatever passed for grass out here poking out a few places.

Peter followed him, sword at the ready.

Lucian showed him some basics first. How to hold the sword properly, how to stand (though unfortunately by demonstrating rather than standing behind him, hands on his hips, guiding him), basic blocks and attacks. They started with slow, careful sparring, blades barely gracing each other, Lucian moving slow and telegraphing his next movements as best he could. He was a good teacher, really good. Must have taught others in the past, Peter thought. Perhaps new recruits to his centuries long werewolf resistance movement, or whatever it was.

They took a break after the first hour, mostly for Peter’s sake. Despite it not being too hot yet, his t-shirt was soaked through with sweat. He was not in as good shape as he had thought, not for exercise like this, at any rate. His wrist was starting to protest at holding a sword up for so long.

“Why swords, anyway?” he asked as he sat on a conveniently sized rock, a half empty water bottle in his hand.

“Well, you live in America. I would assume you were forced to learn how to use a gun when you moved here. And besides, guns do… limited damage to vampires, unless you have the UV bullets. You’re just punching tiny holes in them, which won’t have any lasting effect. Well, if it’s a really young one, perhaps, but you will benefit more from something more solid, I think. A sword doesn’t run out of ammunition, doesn’t require reloading, and is much better than a gun for decapitating someone. At least lately, since bayonets seem to have gone out of fashion.”

“So, just like zombies, removing the head is a good bet?”

“I- what? You do know those aren’t real, Peter?”

Lucian’s head was cocked to the side just slightly, his hair, most of it having escaped from its tie, hanging down in his face, just slightly damp with sweat. He looked worried, as if for Peter’s sanity, and, well, wasn’t that a laugh?

“Course. Course I know, just making the comparison.”

“Ah, well, in that case, yes. Cutting off something’s head works on most creatures. The brain is rather essential for functioning, it seems.”

Peter frowned, took another drink of his water and held the still cool bottle to his forehead for a moment.

“The, uh. The second vampire I met. Strange little teenaged thing, terrible, really. Anyway. I was, uh, strategically retreating from it-”

Lucian snorted in laughter.

“No, no, go on,” he encouraged at Peter’s glare.

“Well, anyway, closed a big mechanical door behind me, cutting off the thing’s arm, but it- It kept moving, grasping at me. Not, you know, it wasn’t doing any damage or anything, was just an arm. Practically ‘armless. Oh, don’t look at me like that, it’s a coping mechanism, I’ll have you know. But point is- kept moving. Can heads do that? Is it some kind of, I don’t know, neurons sending telepathic signals or something? Or like octopuses, some amount of brain spread throughout the body? What? Oh, fuck off, I’ve gone down some weird wikipedia holes, all-right?”

Lucian held his hands up in surrender.

“I didn’t say anything. But that’s interesting. I haven’t encountered that particular characteristic yet. If I separate some part of the vampire from the rest of their body I always keep them apart, but that’s so they won’t accidentally be close enough to heal closed. But there are many varieties, and I’ve primarily have the displeasure of dealing with Corvinid vampires.”

“Corvinid?”

“Our shared forefather,” Lucian said with a bitter smile.

“A pair of brothers, sons of the first immortal. One was bitten by a wolf, the other by a bat. The first of both our species.”

“Thought you said you were the first w- lycan?”

“Well, yes. The first one able to take human form. The ones before me were… Wild. Locked in their wolf forms, only capable of very limited thought. The ones bitten were locked in their new form from the first full moon.”

“So what happened to you?”

“As best as I can understand, my mother must have been pregnant with me before she was bitten, before she transformed, and so I had more human genes than lycan, perhaps.”

“Wait, you were born a lycan? Not bitten?”

“No. We are capable of both forms of reproduction, you know, both vampires and lycans.”

“The vampires can, uh, get pregnant? Aren’t they, well, dead?”

“Yes. Yes, they… They can.”

Lucian set down his own bottle of water rather forcefully, and tied his hair back again with perhaps a little more aggressiveness than the act demanded.

“Let’s continue.”

-

Peter thrust his sword out, barely managing to block Lucian’s attack, feinting, poorly, and whirling around slicing wildly, and, contrary to his plan, hitting something. A thin red line appeared, a few drops of blood blooming, and running down Lucian’s cheek.

“Fuck, sorry. Didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine, I’m the immortal here, I’ll survive a graze,” Lucian said, wiping the blood away to show that the cut was already half closed.

“Woah. That’s, uh, that’s gotta be useful.”

“It is. Now, you really need to work on your blocking. Step back, I’ll attack again. Ready?”

Peter got himself back into an L-stance, making his body the smallest target possible, well balanced, sword held out in front of him. He nodded at Lucian, who advanced, and, with far more ease than Peter had hoped, knocked his sword away, forcing him backwards. Peter took a step backwards, intensely aware of the sword tip less than an inch from his throat. Lucian wouldn’t kill him like this, that would be pointless on so many levels, but Peter’s instincts were still screaming at him that this was bad, he was going to die, and perhaps that was why he failed to pay attention to where he was putting his foot, and stumbled backwards.

In the process of falling, of flailing his limbs around in order to attempt to retain his balance, he managed to also knock Lucian down. The swords, fortunately, did not land sharp end down, clattering to the ground around them. Lucian’s elbow was, however, doing it’s very best to crush Peter’s spleen from the outside, and Peter’s leg was somehow thrown over Lucian’s back, with little respect for his tenuous skeletal integrity.

“Shit, fuck,” Peter said, “sorry, I-”

“No, my fault, shouldn’t have-”

“Ah, fuck, you mind moving your arm, that’s my liver you’re kneeing, that’s my most used internal organ-”

“Is that your-”

“Ow!”

“Right, sorry, let’s...”

They manoeuvred off each other eventually, with no very permanent damage done, other than possibly to their prides. Peter stayed laying on his back, breathing heavy, while Lucian scrambled inelegantly to his feet. The lycan stretched out a hand, And Peter took it, letting himself be pulled up without any apparent effort on Lucian’s side. He overshot, just a little, and suddenly found that his face was only inches from Lucian’s. 

“Thanks,” he breathed.

“No trou-” Lucian started to say, but didn’t get far.

Peter looked down into his stormy eyes, felt the hand still grasping his, and decided well. Well fuck it, and closed the distance between them. Their mouths clashed together, the surprise not entirely conductive to skilled kissing, but Lucian’s lips felt soft against his, parting in what was either surprise or an invitation. Best not gamble, even this close to Vegas. He pulled back, trying to read Lucian’s face. Surprise, yes, but not in a bad way, definitely not, because then Lucian’s free hand was on the back of his neck, pulling him close.


	10. January 20th, 2013, An Almost Abandoned Shack Outside Vegas, A Minute Or So Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inexplicably, they talk about this, like adults or something. This is fantasy, after all.

Lucian’s fingers tangled in the hair at the back of his head, pulling him close, their lips locking again. The lycan’s breath was hot against his face. It’s happening it’s happening it’s happening, and instead of being completely in the moment, Peter’s brain just kept repeating that on a loop. But Lucian’s other hand, the one that pulled him up, that was still grasping his, threaded their fingers together. So he wanted this too. So he wanted _him_ too.

Peter wanted Lucian to push him up against the wall and strip off his gross sweaty and dusty clothes right now, but they were across the little fighting arena from the shack, and that thing looked like it was, at the very most, days from falling apart. His hand slipped from Lucian’s hair, around his cheek, down to his chest, where his shirt hung open, and-

Lucian’s hand grabbed his, halting its descent. Pulled back, so they were looking at each other, lips wet and just slightly kiss-swollen. There was still a smear of blood on Lucian’s cheek, though the cut beneath had closed, and now there are just a few strands of hair encrusted in the dried blood.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Lucian asked, “you sure I am something you want to be doing this with?”

And his irises bled out into an explosion of pale blue, pupils all but disappearing. When he opened his mouth to speak, there were fangs.

“Aren’t you supposed to be fighting things like me?”

“What? No, fuck off. Fighting other things that aren’t like you with you, that’s what this is, remember? And listen, first time we met you were a giant fucking wolf thing, that’s not news to me. Come _on_ ,” and that last bit came out as a bit of a whine.

Lucian crossed his arms, glancing down at Peter’s jeans. He was visibly hard, and that was, well. That was pretty embarrassing. It was just kissing. Very good kissing, with someone he’s super into, but still. Lucian looked unimpressed.

“So, you want to fuck me, is that it?”

Peter squirmed.

“Ye- I mean. Yeah. Or you me, I’m not fussy.”

Lucian’s face went through a journey of expressions. Clearly this wasn’t entirely the answer he was expecting. But he seemed to collect himself, visibly forcing his features back into a calm, neutral and only very slightly confrontational expression. 

“So that’s it, that’s what you want? To fuck a monster, what, for some kind of weird fake vampire hunter street cred?”

“Hey,” Peter argued, “real vampire hunter now. Or now, too, at any rate. Thanks to you. And no? Do you think that’s what I do?”

Lucian shrugged.

“Might have briefly looked you up online,” he admitted, not quite managing to look Peter in the eye.

And that- that was kind of flattering, wasn’t it? But the local gossip sites have gotten a lot of bad photos of him partying, and probably that’s not quite the picture he wanted to paint of himself, not for Lucian. He checked, once, and you had to go to the eleventh google page to get the article about his parents’ murder. Everything before that, after his website and the paid ads were, well. Not great. It’s not, precisely, that it’s an image he has consciously cultivated. He hasn’t cultivated much of any deliberate image, outside of through his show, because he keeps firing his PR people. In his defence, they have all, so far, been idiots. But it just sort of happened, didn’t it. He came here to run from his past. Ironic, his therapist claims, as he replays it four nights a week for an audience, which, she can shut up, frankly, and stop being an inner voice in his head, he refuses to pay her for that sort of overtime. But he has spent the last decade drowning his sorrows full time, essentially. So yeah. Yeah there have been a lot of parties, a lot of extremely attractive people of a variety of genders, a lot of drugs and alcohol. But this was Vegas. It’s what this city did to you. Or it’s what it’s done to him.

“Oh,” he said, eventually.

“It’s, yeah.”

“Look,” Lucian said, “I’m not interested in that kind of thing, right? In being someone you fuck and then move on to the next person. So is that what you want? Do you even know?”

“Yes. No. Maybe? I don’t know.”

He sounded pathetic.

“Well,” Lucian said, “I suggest you take some time to think about it, then.”

But he had thought about it. He had thought about it since fucking November. Peter had thought about it for nearly three months. He might not have come to much of a conclusion, but it wasn’t like this was some kind of spur of the moment thing. He didn’t say that, though. Instead, he asked Lucian whether this was something _he_ wanted.

“Peter. I’m too old to be someone’s next mistake. I like you, I do. Obviously. Wouldn’t be out here with you if I didn’t. You’re good looking, you have a sensible amount of aggressiveness and resentment against vampires, you’re pretty good at hunting for a human. Much nicer than any evidence suggest you would be. Terrible with a sword, but it’s your first time. It’s understandable.”

Peter wanted to argue that hey, he had managed to cut him, but Lucian seemed to be on a roll, and he didn’t want to spoil his chances any more than he already had. Or, frankly, to point out he had hurt him.

“But I need you,” Lucian continued, “to figure out what you want, all right? And we can continue to train, I can let you know when there’s an actual vampire situation I think you can deal with, but please, Peter, don’t- don’t try to kiss me again, okay? Not until you, well.”

Everything in Peter’s body was screaming at him to get in his car, to drive away from this situation as fast as he could. But he could do the responsible thing, he _would_ do it. So he nodded. 

“Yeah,” he said, keeping his eyes firmly on the ground between them, “okay, yeah, can do. I’m- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have k- shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s okay,” Lucian told him, his voice kind.

Peter bent down and picked up the sword, mostly for something to do, some excuse to look anywhere else. He took them both, carried them over to the shack, lining them up against the wall. Bent down and picked up his water, taking a drink, only too late realising he was washing away the taste of Lucian, something he had feelings about. He wasn’t entirely sure exactly what those feelings were, but they were strong and many.

“Done for the day?” Lucian asked.

Peter looked at the werewolf’s shadow.

“Think so, yeah. Got, uh. Got a show tonight, gotta get back in time to get ready.”

“I takes you hours to put on eyeliner and a wig?”

“No, but the trousers are a good half hour per leg,” Peter joked, and Lucian laughed, and that felt pretty good.

“There’s checks of the special effects and shit,” he added, “going over everything with the girls in the show, that sort of thing.”

“Right,” said Lucian, “sure. Just. Do you want to leave the weapons you brought here? I have some lockable storage here, in case someone comes by when I’m not here which is, well, mostly. And we’ll try again next weekend?”

It was an olive branch, and Peter was grateful.

“Yeah, he said, “yeah, that would be good.”

Lucian helped Peter haul the stuff out of his car, and carry it all in. Peter had brought two of the crossbows, too, just in case. In case of what? He didn’t know.

The shack looked just as rundown inside as outside, but as Lucian had promised there was a cellar hatch, locked with an almost comically massive padlock. As Lucian opened it, Peter looked around. There seemed to be no electricity, just a few small rooms. A few massive water bottles in one corner, next to a stack of canned foods. A large mattress on the floor which looked like it had once been white, but that was a very long time ago. It was, Peter saw, covered in long black hairs. Fur, he realised.

“Do you come out here to, uh, wolf out?” he asked, as Lucian kicked open the hatch, and started lowering the bags down.

“Oh. Yes. It’s far enough out from the city to be safe. Nothing out here but animals. No cameras, no lights, just. Nature.”

“Didn’t know wolves liked deserts. Or lycans, I guess.

Lucian shrugged.

“It’s different. I needed different. Go up North and it looks too much like home.”

“Yeah. That was part of why I came here too. Started in New York, you know. Figured it felt a tiny bit closer to home than the West Coast. But I got the chance to be part of a show in Vegas, and, well, I’d used up most of the money left by my mum and dad by then. Seemed like a good opportunity. And this place, it’s so far from everything England is, you know? Nothing here to remind me of the past.”

“Except your show.”

“Except that,” Peter agreed, “but that’s on my terms.”

Lucian made a noise of understanding, of sympathy. He closed the hatch up again.

“So. See you next weekend? Saturday okay? And, maybe, try not to be too hungover? Might help your coordination.”

Peter’s cheeks felt a little warm. Probably the werewolf could smell the alcohol on him. Hadn’t considered that. Shit.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll, uh, I’ll be more ready. See you then.”

-

After he had driven about half an hour, and gotten back to some semblance of civilisation, he stopped the car outside a gas station. Went in and bought the largest and most sugary iced coffee he could find. And then he sat in his car, sunglasses on, and had a minor meltdown about his day so far. It hadn’t, technically, gone that badly. Lucian was still friendly. Lucian was even, it seemed, possibly interested, at least if Peter could be… Less himself. No, that wasn’t what he said, that was what Peter thought. 

**Peter:** Hey, remember u gave me this # in case of an emergency?

 **Doc:** Yes, Peter, what’s going on? Are you okay?

 **Peter:** Remember the guy I was telling u about? Kissed him.

 **Doc:** Peter that does not count as an emergency. This is my personal number. Don’t abuse this, or I won’t be there if there is an actual emergency. We can talk about this at your next session, it

 **Doc:** It’s only two days away. Goodbye, Peter.

She did not, he thought, type like a normal human being. Perhaps she too was some kind of supernatural entity. Or perhaps there were rules for how you could communicate with patients. There probably were. He drank more of the sugary caffeine, and looked through his contact list. It was long, but most of the names meant nothing to him. Was there no one he could talk to about this mess? His finger hovered over a name.

 **Peter:** Charley, my dude, hows uni?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on a roll 💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪  
> I started this because I thought I'd write maybe a oneshot or two, but because of my inability to write those I'm now on chapter 10 and they've barely kissed. I don't know what I expected, really, this always happens. But at least multiple people seem to enjoy this, so that's motivating. Thanks to everyone who comments and keeps me writing for that sweet sweet validation that I absolutely don't obsessively reread when feeling down.


	11. January 21st, 2013, The Desert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Processing

Lucian lay on top of a rocky outcropping, head resting on his paws. The moon was not full, but a good three quarters of the way there, her radiance illuminating the barren landscape. With the exceptions of rocks, and a few dry and tired looking tall grasses, there was nothing out here. A couple of insects buzzed around him, but he ignored them. He let out a long sigh. Had he made a mistake? He had seen how uncomfortable he made Peter, the way he had visibly cringed, looked like he was trying to make himself so small he’d simply disappear. But it hadn’t been okay, had it? Just springing it on him like that, they weren’t on that level yet, were they? It had been so very long since the last time Lucian had to deal with this sort of thing. 

It had been easy with Sonja. Or, rather, it had been incredibly difficult and dangerous, but for completely external reasons. Their liking each other, that had been established. Begun that one time he saved her from the sun, when their travel party was ambushed. And, well, after that it was all secret meetings, excellent sex on top of towers, in hidden dungeons. And then, well. He didn’t like to dwell on the part that came after that. 

There had been others, of course. He hadn’t been celibate in her memory for six centuries. But they had been short things, rarely lasting more than a few years, and all feeling slightly hollow. After a while, somewhere around the renaissance, he had stopped looking for any actual romantic and emotional relationships. He had people he was close with, whom he cared about, friends and comrades in his revolution, and then he had people he had sex with, and sometimes there was an overlap, but there weren’t really _feelings_ involved. Not even with Raze, one of the members of the pack he had known the longest, liked the best.

But this, this was. He didn’t like it, he didn’t know what the rules were, any more. Flirting was one thing, flirting was easy. Lucian knew he was reasonably attractive by human standards, and being able to more subtly smell the response humans had to him certainly helped him gauge what worked and what didn’t, but beyond that it was. It was strange and uncomfortable. He hadn’t really been with humans, other than very brief sexual encounters, and it always made him feel a bit bad, like he was somehow tricking them by not disclosing that he was not one of them. Worried that he’d accidentally graze them with his teeth, turn them by accident. Or, more likely, kill them, given the high mortality rate of lycan bites. What if he accidentally did that to Peter? The poor man had already been briefly turned into a vampire once, even if he got better. And sure, Lucian had thought about what a lycan bite would add to that. Who wouldn’t? Would it result in some sort of hybrid? Or would the vampirism have faded so completely as to make the effect completely insignificant. Would his having survived, however briefly, a vampire bite mean that he was more likely to survive one from a lycan too?

But no, that was out of the question. Peter had told him how traumatic that had been for him, being turned into that which he hated most. And surely, a lycan was no better. But it was something Lucian thought about, it had to be. What if they did get together? What if Lucian loved him? Was he expected to just sit back and watch him slowly age and die? That didn’t seem fair to either of them. No, perhaps it was for the best if Peter reconsidered, thought better of this crush of his. Decided to keep it strictly professional and platonic. 

The thing, though. The thing was Lucian _liked_ the stupid, reckless human. Liked that they had vampirically induced trauma in common, even if it was in very different forms. Felt flattered that the human kept seeking him out. Peter was ridiculous, and dramatic, and had a very enthusiastic relationship with eyeliner, even, it became evident, on his days off. And he was good looking, and confident enough in his looks for it to circle right around into slightly ridiculous again, which somehow made it all more charming. Perhaps it was a front, or simply what happened to you when you had gorgeous people wanting to sleep with you constantly, even if it surely was to a large degree due to his fame and money.

Lucian let out a high whine, which startled some sort of small bird nesting nearby into flight. The wolf part of his brain suggested very enthusiastically that he chase it, but no, the larger and more in control human part countered, he was brooding. Not moping, definitely not that. Thinking about his options. Making sure that whatever he did it was the right choice. Bullshit, the wolf pointed out. 

-

Charley didn’t reply to Peter’s text until Tuesday morning, because the kid was an ungrateful asshole who did not appreciate the invaluable help and sacrifice Peter had made to help him get his girlfriend back last year.

 **Charley:** What do you need?

 **Peter:** :( Can’t I just ask how u r?

 **Charley:** You havent texted in 6 months

 **Peter:** Been busy. But listen, I met a werewolf.

 **Charley:** Werewolves are real????

 **Peter:** Yep! And im trying to make him be my boyfriend

 **Charley:** ??????????????!!?

 **Charley:** WTF

 **Charley:** What is wrong with you????

 **Charley:** Amy says hi btw and adds what on earth are you doing???

 **Peter:** Tell her hi! :)

 **Peter:** ur girlfriend was a vampire for a lot longer than me, ask her wat she was into

 **Charley:** No. Peter, please. Don’t. Don’t do this, don’t tell us about this!!

 **Peter:** Let u 2 fuck in my living room u don’t get to escape hearing about this now ure both legal adultss

 **Charley:** :(

 **Charley:** don’t you have someone else you can talk to about this?

 **Peter:** Who know monsters r real? Not fuckign really m8

 **Charley:** …

 **Charley:** I take it this werewolf is nice? Doesn’t eat people?

 **Peter:** havent asked

 **Peter:** but hes nice! And hot! ;) & hunts vampires

 **Charley:** :((

 **Charley:** Idk what to tell you Peter, be careful? Don’t let him bite you? Doubt anything can stop you getting who you want.

 **Peter:** thx m8 B)

And was it the most enlightening or supportive conversation he had ever had? Not really. But did he pressure Charley into telling him to go for it? Absolutely! And he counted that as a win. 

Later that day, at his therapy appointment, he had to listen to the doctor, Emily something, he had never bothered to learn her last name, despite being on the door he had to wait outside in the exceptionally rare case he was there early, berate him about misusing her trust. And, to be fair, she probably had a point. But, as he told her, it had very much felt like an emergency at the time, and hadn’t she told him to pay attention to his emotional responses? And she had sighed and rolled her eyes and told him he knew that wasn’t what she had meant.

He did tell her what had happened between him and Lucian, though, with the appropriate redactions. No mention of anything supernatural. The sword training, he explained, was to improve the authenticity of his show. The authenticity of vampire hunting, she had asked, and he had grimaced at her. But there had followed a long conversation about boundaries, about making sure both parties were on the same page, and, worryingly, something called sexual scripts, which sounded like utter nonsense. 

Peter told her, too, that he had contacted Charley. She had heard a heavily redacted version of the events of last year, and knew more or less who he was to Peter, although he was not sure the teenager would agree to Peter’s defining of himself as the kid’s mentor and “cool uncle figure”. She, too, told him it was hardly appropriate to ask a child whether he should sleep with someone, however much Peter argued the kid was eighteen now. Something about power imbalances, she insisted. Everyone was teaming up against him, and he didn’t like it.

-

The next Sunday, Peter did indeed manage to be better prepared for training. He hadn’t had more than two or three drinks the night before, he had taken his meds at the right time instead of forgetting them for several hours. He even tried to do some of the stupid excercises he was supposed to do. Tried to visualise letting the bad thoughts blow away like leaves on the wind, and he even managed to do it without that wind turning into a tornado and enveloping him in exclusively bad thoughts, which was a first. He turned up a few minutes before noon, and Lucian looked pleasantly surprised, and that _did something_ to some part of Peter, felt like a snake twisting in his guts, but pleasant. He decided to ignore it.

“So, I-” Peter began at the same time as Lucian asked “Ready to get started?” and Peter just nodded at that.

So they fought. Well, Peter tried to. He felt like he was getting better with the sword, he really did, but when he asked Lucian the lycan wiggled his hand and shrugged, but reassured him that he would, it would just take time. And that was quite nice, wasn’t it? A sort of implied promise that they would keep going with this, that if nothing else Lucian would be there to help him get better at hunting vampires, to go after the bloodsuckers with him.

Peter wanted to bring up that he had thought about what Lucian had said, that he had even talked with people about it, that he felt more sure, this time, but he didn’t. It felt like it was too early, still, like he ought to spend more time on a decision like this. 

“Do you want to test the crossbows out?” Lucian asked as they were taking a break, “just for variety?”

Peter had planned it better this time, and didn’t have a show the same day, and so they could take their time more, take slightly longer breaks, and it was nice. They talked about vampires, keeping it all on subject, and filled out the inconsistencies in each others’ knowledge. It felt nice, that. Despite Lucian’s centuries of practical experience, he didn’t know quite so much about the species of vampires different from those he had grown up around. Sure, the ones from Europe he was pretty familiar with, but he had little knowledge of the ones from other continents. And Peter felt quite pleased with himself, being able to fill him in on those, even if the information all came from human scholars, and Lucian rejected some of them as absolutely ridiculous and impossible. Peter argued that his being a werewolf was also ridiculous and impossible, so did he really have any right to talk. Lucian had no good answer to that, but still refused to believe in many of them.

“Yeah,” Peter said, “yeah, that could be fun.”

And it must have been something Lucian had planned, because he got out a target which was essentially a haystuffed sack, only he had added a round piece of cardboard, on which he had drawn a frowny face with fangs, which Peter thought was quite charming.

Shooting a crossbow, it turned out, was not particularly easy, as Peter had previously assumed. Granted, the one time he had tried before he had been very drunk and managed to shoot his TV screen, but he had assumed sobriety and being outside would have automatically made him more proficient. Still, there were some perks. To make sure he was holding it right, aiming properly, Lucian had to, this time, get all close, adjust his hands for him. But Peter behaved. Was respectfully neutral however much faster than usual his heartbeat was. 

It went pretty well. He even got a few head shots in by the time they were finished for the day. Agreed with Lucian that this had gone well. Agreed to meet again the next weekend, make it a regular thing. And neither of them mentioned anything about their conversation the last time at all, which filled Peter with equal amounts of relief and despair. They would get to it, he thought, eventually. He could wait. He could be patient, watch Lucian for any signs that he was more than casually interested, and then bring it up after this, the training, had become something like habit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexual scripts, which I learned about in the lecture I had ten minutes before writing this chapter, are heteronormative bullshit, and sexology needs more queer scientists. If anyone was wondering.


	12. February 10th, 2013, A Not Quite Abandoned Shack Outside Vegas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soft wolf pupy time

For the next few weeks it proceeded like that. Training every weekend, tactfully avoiding any romantic subjects. Peter listened, for once, to what everyone was telling him, even though it was incredibly frustrating. He only mildly harassed his therapist and Charley with the details of his frustration. Peter stayed away, too, from any casual sex, which was quite challenging, but he felt like Lucian might be old fashioned about that sort of thing. Being that old, he had a right to be. And, frankly, Peter was worried the wolf man could smell it on him. It had him a tiny bit paranoid, not quite knowing how much the man could sense with his magic wolf powers.

On the second weekend of February, Peter was driving out to the shack again. He knew the way well, by now. Knew the latest place he could stop to get a coffee that wasn’t too too terrible. Could recognize the cluster of signs that meant the small gravel road that lead up to the shack was just a few hundred meters away. It was a good routine, by now. It was, without a doubt, the part of his week he looked forward to the most, which only very slightly worried him.

The car made a rumbling noise as he drove up the path, but he paid it no mind. Turned the radio down a bit, and downed the last of his iced americano, which was, by now, mostly just an extra watery one. It wasn’t that it was particularly hot yet, not for Nevada, but Peter was English, and anything above 15 degrees counted as summer as far as he was concerned.

As he rounded the last corner, the shack became visible from behind the rock formation, as did Lucian’s motorbike, gleaming in the sunlight like it had been washed, for once. A smile formed on Peter’s face quite without the interference of his conscious mind. 

Lucian was nowhere to be seen, so he headed into the shack, to find the wolf man absorbed in a book. It was, Peter saw, the one he had lent him, about vampire folklore around the world. Lucian was sitting on the mattress, which had been pushed up against the wall to form a sort of rudimentary chair situation. He had offered, last week, to lend Lucian the use of his car if he wanted to get some more stuff transported here, like maybe some furniture, or a generator or, well, anything, but Lucian had refused. It wasn’t meant to be a home, he pointed out, only a hideaway, a safe house. It needed to keep looking abandoned, even if the water containers and piles of canned food suggested otherwise.

“You know,” Lucian said without looking up, “however much I resent the vampires I grew up with, I am grateful they used their teeth and not strange tongue probosci for their bloosucking. It sounds… unappealing.”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, sinking down to the floor to sit next to him, “lot of weird ones around. Learn a lot?”

“Yes. I’d like to find some non-human sources, though. Perhaps I can reach out to some old contacts when I go back to Europe.”

Peter felt like someone had poured a bucket of ice on him.

“You’re, uh, you’re leaving, then?” he asked, in what he, personally, thought was an admirably carefree tone.

“Well, eventually, yes,” Lucian replied, “I’m not here for, you know, forever.”

“Course, course,” Peter agreed, as the bucketful of ice settled in his stomach.

He studied a dirty spot on the floor carefully, only seeing Lucian turning his head to look at him out of the corner of his eye.

“You are here for good, then?” Lucian asked, “no thoughts of returning to England even though you know the vampire is dead now?”

Peter let out a strangled laugh.

“Nah. Don’t think there’d be a market for my show there. And it’s the only thing I know how to do, really.”

“What did you do before that? In England, before you left?”

“Heh. Well. My parents, they weren’t rich, you know, just your normal average family, but they did own their house, right, and it was sold when they died. Don’t know who made that decision, but whatever. And so when I turned 18 I got the money from that, and just sort of… Coasted, you know? Was in a band, snuck into lectures at unis I couldn’t be bothered to pay for, stumbled my way into theatre for a bit. Then, a few years later when the money ran out, I moved here. American dream, and all that. So yeah, fake vampire hunting is literally my only skill.”

“Well,” said Lucian, “you also know how to sword fight badly, now, that’s something. And shoot crossbows surprisingly well.”

“I know you’re 800 and all, but those aren’t exactly employable skills in the 21st century.”

“Hmm, fair enough. Didn’t you have a plan? While growing up?”

“Oh, yeah. It was avoid getting eaten by vampires.”

“Good solid life goal,” Lucian agreed.

“Always figured the vampi- figured _Jerry_ would find and eat me. Really didn’t expect to live to see thirty, if I’m honest with you, let alone thirty-seven. Shit, thirty-eight now. God, that’s terrifyingly close to forty, isn’t it.”

“When I was forty, the black death was still a hundred years in the future,” Lucian said, almost wistfully.

“Shit, sorry, yeah. Different for you, though. Not hurtling towards death. Shit, what was that like? As horrifying as the history books make it seem?”

Lucian shrugged, carefully closing the book and putting it down.

“I was an immortal, living in a castle full of other immortals, far from the closest human settlement. It was… fine?”

“Right. Yeah. Makes sense.”

“Anyway, ready to get started?”

They spent the day working on swords, again. It seemed that was what Lucian felt was most important. And it was good. Lucian looked… ferocious with a sword, long hair whirling behind him with every movement. That part didn’t help Peter’s concentration. But he got through it, got some good practise in. They had taken to meeting on the weekend day when Peter didn’t have a show, it alternated, and so they were able to keep going a good while, switching between shooting and fencing, taking long breaks. They spent those talking, often of vampires, or folklore in general. Lucian had been steadily getting through some of Peter’s literature on the subject, even though most of it was deemed highly unlikely.

“Look, they might be real. Or parts of it,” Peter argued, “they say lots of weird incorrect stuff about werewolves too, like the hairy palms, and the drinking water from the footprint of a wolf, right? Having your middle and index finger be the same length? And that your regular old Transylvanian vampire has to stop and count stuff. Loads of weird superstitions, but that doesn’t mean you’re not real, does it?”

Lucian sighed.

“I suppose not. It’s just, a bloodsucking chicken? Piercing your skin with its beak and draining you that way?”

“Can’t all be elegant goths, can they? There’s a snake one too.”

“At least snakes fit the theme. And have fangs. Chicken is just… Strange.”

-

When it got dark in the desert, it got dark quick. Nothing like the long, drawn out dusk he was used to. He usually didn’t notice, with the lights of the city keeping everything bright, but out here it was striking. Neither of them had realised how late it had gotten. Peter said his goodbyes, again imploring Lucian to let him know if he discovered any vampires, but apparently the lycan hadn’t found any since last year. Peter doubted this somewhat, had a sneaking suspicion that there had been some, but that he worried Peter wouldn’t be up for it, wouldn’t be able to take care of himself. And while that might reasonably be accurate, it still stung a little. Still, he didn’t press the matter.

So he got into his car, still hot after having been parked in the sun all day, and turned the key. Nothing happened. He frowned, took it out, examined it, and, finding nothing wrong, tried again. Still nothing. It wasn’t gas, it couldn’t be gas, could it? It hadn’t been that long since he filled the tank? Was the battery dead? Had he forgotten to turn off the radio or light or something? Fuck, cars were stupid things. Hadn’t even been that many hours, had it?

“Fuck,” he muttered.

-

“What do you mean this isn’t an emergency? I- No, you fuck off, I’m gonna call your manager to-fucking-morrow and-”

They hung up.

“Fuck,” he muttered again.

Lucian had heard him shouting on the phone, evidently, because when Peter emerged from the car, kicking at the tyre, he was leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

“Car trouble?”

“Fucker won’t start,” Peter muttered, “dead battery I think. You don’t happen to know about car stuff, do you? I made the mistake of mentioning I was at a house and they refuse to send someone until morning because it’s _not an emergency_ … Stupid fucking country, you’d think, fucked up as it is, that it would be the kind of country where you could pay someone to come fix your car 24/7, wouldn’t you?”

“I did once spend some time learning the inner workings of cars,” Lucian said, “but it was unfortunately in 1926, and I do believed they’ve changed some since. Also I don’t have jumper cables. Sorry. Don’t you have any in your car?”

“No,” Peter said, looking at the ground, “didn’t think I’d need them.”

“Idiot,” Lucian said, but his tone was amused rather than derisive.

“Doesn’t matter. You can stay here. Got food and water. A roof. And then you can call tomorrow. Even got a power thing that should work with your phone so you can call again in the morning. No show tonight, right, so you should be fine?”

“Shit, thank you, Lucian, really. I didn’t want to- Didn’t want to ask, thought it might be weird, what with...”

He trailed off into silence.

“It’s no problem. Now, what are your feelings about cold canned spaghetti?”

-

“Oh, you take the mattress,” Lucian said, “I’ve got a blanket somewhere too, I think. I’ll take the floor, I don’t mind. Usually sleep in wolf form out here, anyway. Hardy shape.”

“I- you sure? Doesn’t sound comfortable,” Peter argued, though he really didn’t want the floor. 

The mattress was a single, not meant for two unless they were exceptionally close, and a stretch even for that.

“Of course,” Lucian assured him.

Peter debated with himself whether he should offer to sleep in his car, but he had before, and it really was very uncomfortable.

“I guess, then, yeah, thanks,” Peter mumbled coherently. 

“It’s, uh, not that clean, I’m sorry. Again, sleeping in wolf form and-”

“It’s fine,” Peter promised, “I had a dog when I was little, used to things that put the fur in furniture. Not, of course, that I’m calling you one, but- Fuck, you know what I mean. It, uh, sounded funnier in my head.”

But luckily, Lucian mostly looked amused. One day, Peter thought he might like to not accidentally sound like an asshole, but he clearly wasn’t quite there yet, however much Lucian seemed tolerant of it.

Despite the fact that he didn’t have to share the mattress, Peter felt the need to curl up as small as he could under the only very slightly smelly blanket Lucian had managed to find. He kept his eyes closed, and his back to Lucian as he undressed and changed, but he couldn’t avoid the noises, the cracks of bone and almost frantic scraping of emerging claws on the wooden floor, the pained whining noises peaking, and then dying down to slow, heavy breaths. He turned his head when it got quiet.

Peter hadn’t, he realised, seen Lucian’s wolf form since that day they met, four months ago. It was different, now, with context. With knowing that it was the same man who had handed him a blanket a few minutes ago, who had agree to train him and refused to take any sort of payment for doing so. Who had taken care of him when he had gotten himself injured enough to not take care of himself. He seemed far less monstrous now, although that could also be to do with the fact that he was curled up on the floor looking calm, and not busy tearing out the throat of a vampire with his fangs.

His eyes, big and completely black, blinked slowly at him.

“You, uh. You understand me still when you’re like this, right?”

The wolf made a motion that was reasonably close to a nod.

“I’m just. Been a while since I’ve seen you like this, you know. ‘S a bit strange. Like there’s still this small part of my brain that just goes big wolf, danger, run, even though I know it’s, well, you.”

The wolf bared all it’s innumerable fangs at him.

“Oh, very funny, wolf boy. Was gonna say, rest of my brain is pretty glad the massive scary wolf is on my side against the other big spooky things.”

Lucian huffed a sigh, which Peter wasn’t entirely sure how to interpret. It was somehow both easier and more difficult to speak to him like this. Not really risking a confrontational answer, but also far less able to read his reactions.

“Right, well, good night, then.”

Lucian made a very very soft barking sort of noise, which Peter assumed meant the same. He turned away again, not entirely sure whether he would be able to fall asleep looking into those eyes. However much he knew whose they were. Though, to be fair, having anyone look at him while he fell asleep might be weird. It didn’t take long, in the end. It had been a long day of pretty serious working out, and he hadn’t had any coffee since he arrived around noonish. 

Peter opened his eyes. Something was wrong, very wrong. It was too dark. He should have seen the faint light of the moon through the one window that had not been boarded up, but it was completely dark, pitch black. He tried to reach up, to see if something was blocking his eyes, but he found that he couldn’t move his hands beyond his elbows. Something was pressing down on them, on his legs too. Something not quite solid, yet incredibly dense and heavy. Where was he? It didn’t smell like the shack, no. Like something abandoned and forgotten yes, but something dank and humid, completely unlike the dry desert air, however dusty it might be. It smelled like dirt.

He felt something sharp and wet below his ribs somewhere, something that pierced. Nails scraped along his torso, drawing lines of pain in his skin. He still couldn’t move. Another sharp pain, this time to the soft inside of his upper arm. And a sensation like he was being drained, like the life was leaking from his body. A bite at his neck, then, just where it met his shoulder. Something horribly wet and cold dragging across his cheek. 

When he tried to scream, he produced no noise. He could open his mouth, but nothing came out.

“No one can hear you down here,” someone said in a distinctly mocking tone.

“No one to come and rescue you, boy.”

And he understood at once that he was in his twelve year old body, on that night, only now there were so many of them, and he was buried deep in the earth. Burrowers, he remembered. Nesting deep in the ground. Crumbs of dirt fell onto his face, into his open mouth. The feeling at first gentle, then speeding up, becoming relentless. But he could still breathe, just about. Could almost feel himself dying but not quite. The sickly feel of the vampiric venom entering his system, seeping into his blood even as they continued to bite him, continued to _suckle_.

“Your parents tasted lovely, but you know, young blood is so much sweeter, just the thing for dessert.”

He had lost so much blood that he could feel his body start to collapse in on itself, crumple and crease, skin growing tight around his bones. Still there were new bites, cold tongues licking at the wounds already there, and the dirt was still falling onto him, getting ever closer to burying him in the dark forever. Then there was a single thing, a face above him, impossibly illuminated in the utter dark, a mouth filled with needle sharp teeth, growing ever wider.

“Fuck!”

He jolted awake, his heart hammering in his chest, beating so fast he thought it might escape. It had been ages since he had had one this bad. Despite the cold, he was covered in a layer of sweat, and shivering. He tried to close his eyes to calm himself down, but when he did all he could see was that awful maw. Something scraped across the floor, and he jumped, almost convinced it was Jerry, back somehow, from the dead. Well, double dead. Super dead. Un-undead. But it was Lucian.

“It’s all-right,” he said, voice hoarse and strained, “was just a- a bad dream, I’m-”

But Lucian seemed either not to care or hear, padding over to him and collapsing down, partially on the mattress, mostly on the floor. He laid his massive head so it rested over Peter’s, and with a stiff, clawed hand urged him to lay down again, and then rested his heavy arm? Front leg? Over Peter’s shoulder, pulling him close, so that he had no choice but to rest his forehead against the long, coarse fur of Lucian’s chest, the movement of his breathing making the strands tickle his face gently.

“Thank you,” Peter murmured, so low as to be nearly inaudible, but Lucian let out a small soft noise in what had to be a response.

“Hey,” he whispered, “in the morning, can we talk?”

Another soft rumble.

“Okay. Thanks. Night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spend so much time googling and checking whether I'm getting dates/days of the week/moon phases right for 2012/2013, despite the fact that absolutely no one would notice or care if I messed that up, and checking terrain and climate averages in Southern Nevada and shit for similarly unlikely reasons, unless, I guess, someone from there reads this, but there's like 11 people subscribed to this one so chances are low. Anyway, point is, the one thing I didn't manage to find despite my research, is the concept of a kind of vampire that is a small bird that sucks your blood out through its beak? I think it was a chicken but it might be a small songbird or something. I could swear I read about it years ago, but googling about 20 different phrasings yielded nothing, so idk, maybe I made that one up. The other, though, the aswang from the Phillipines is a real one. I mean, as real as vampires get. You know what I'm saying. Anyway. I'm sure that's what you guys are focused on.


	13. February 11th, 2013, Same Dang Place, I Forgot My Exact Phrasing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have their second proper adult conversation! Incroyable!

When Peter woke up, it was to the cold having crept into the old shack. This was not a difficult task, as when the sun was bright enough and at the right angle, it shone right through the spaces between the planks. Peter pulled the blanket tighter around him, and tried to wriggle forward enough to collide with Lucian again, but the good lovely heat source was nowhere to be found, and Peter ended up wriggling off the mattress entirely and onto the cold, hard floor. He opened his eyes. No werewolves in sight. The pile of clothes on the floor behind Lucian had disappeared, however, so he was clearly more ready to talk.

Peter struggled to his feet, and draped the blanket around him like a cape, squinting at the dark room. His back was not particularly happy with him for this largely floorbased sleeping, and he wondered whether he had time to squeeze in a massage before the show tonight.

He found Lucian outside the shack, leaning against the wall, bathed in the light of the rising sun. God it was early. He hadn't seen the sunrise in years. Well, not upon waking up, anyway, but he had stayed up through it plenty, sat, mostly shitfaced, in one of the good armchairs, seeing the light slowly illuminate the city below him, neons at last clicking off.

"Sleep well?" Lucian asked.

"Eh," Peter said, "the nice warm wolf fucked off at some point, and it got a bit cold and uncomfortable after that."

"Sorry," Lucian said, but he did not sound sorry at all.

"Thought you might not want to watch another change. Non lycans tend to get a bit squeamish about it."

Peter sat down next to him, angling himself to catch the sun with as much of his body as he could. It was early enough to still be chilly.

"It does sound and look quite horrific," Peter agreed, "but that doesn't bother me other than that it seems terribly painful for you. Looks like it would be torture."

He was deliberately not looking at Lucian, squinting, instead, into the morning sun.

"Not quite painful," Lucian said, "I think if I truly felt it I might die, or my brain would shut down, but... it's uncomfortable. Doesn't feel like something my body is supposed to do, although I guess it must be. It's like..."

He shrugged, clearly not quite able to find a comparable human experience. Peter nodded.

"Thanks, by the way. For... tonight. It- The nightmares aren't usually that bad."

"What was it about? If it helps, rather than hurts, to talk about."

"Uh, being eaten by vampires while being buried alive. Not a favourite, that."

Lucian nodded, understanding.

They sat in silence a while, letting the sun warm them, and, in Peter's case, makes his eyes water. He wondered where his sunglasses were. Spent a few minutes being extremely aware of just how many centimeters of dirt separated him and Lucian. Summoning his courage.

"You said something, last night, said you wanted to talk?" Lucian asked, just as Peter was mere minutes away from saying somethig himself.

Peter pulled the blanket higher up around himself. Shielding him from the horror of being visible, or some bullshit, probably. Fuck that. Shielding him from the cold. From the inevitable rejection maybe.

"Change your mind?" Lucian prodded after what must have been a few moments of frustrated introspection.

"No. Yeah, uh. Okay, so, listen," Peter began coherently, and then stopped.

Lucian was looking at him, quite patiently. In the bright sun his eyes were an almost transparent warm grey, like some sort of gemstone. God, listen to him.

"Remember you asked me to think about stuff, a few weeks ago, after I, uh, sligtly kissed you?"

"Vividly."

Peter ran a hand through his hair, which was already a mess, all old hair product and desert sand, tacky and uncooperative.

"So I have. Have thought. Have had thoughts, many thoughts. About you. And about you and me, and what that might be like. If I'm honest, I've been thinking about it longer, since last year, since what? November? And- and many of the thoughts are that I really like you, Lucian, and, and I don't really know what to do about it, other than, I guess, keep finding reasons to... be here. Hunt vampires. Learn how to use weapons good. And uh. Do you... do you have any thoughts? About that?"

“Is,” Lucian began, slightly frowning, “is this you, as vaguely as you possibly can, trying to say you want to try and start some kind of… romantic relationship?”

Bless this man and his ability to parse Peter’s ramblings.

“Uh,” Peter said.

“Fuck. Uhm. I think so? I’m not good at, you know. Words. The English language. Not unless I’m on stage, it’s easier there. You get to rehearse beforehand. But… But yeah. That’s the idea I am, I guess, trying to communicate. And so I am wondering whether you, perhaps, could be into the idea of that also.”

He turned his head just enough so he could surreptitiously glance at Lucian through the corner of his eye. The lycan met his gaze, looking so very calm. This was strange, Because Peter was the opposite of calm, currently, was a sea in a storm of panic, heart racing, probably loud enough that the lycan could hear. Shit, this being the human one felt so _vulnerable_ when Lucian had all kinds of magic moon wolf powers. Was this what he meant, what he worried about?

Lucian took Peter’s hand in his, twining their fingers together, and looked out at the flat landscape stretching out before them. The suspense was killing Peter, but the wolf seemed set on torturing him.

“I haven’t ever… Been in a relationship with a human,” Lucian said at last.

“Well, not a real one, not anything lasting any time at all, not with anyone who knew me, knew what I was. Although one did suspect I was a witch and tried to have me burned. The 1400s. What a century.”

“So…?” Peter encouraged.

“So, it’s a scary thought.”

“No, you’ve got it the wrong way round, you’re the scary one, wolf boy.”

Lucian smiled, and Peter thought I might possibly be the best smile he’d ever seen, and, quite without meaning to, he squeezed Lucian’s hand. 

“I mean you. What if it works? What if we’re really really good together, you know? And you, well. Odds are, you won’t survive to see 200.”

“Lucian,” Peter asked, “do you not know how long a human life span is?”

“About a century, right? Hundred years or so?”

“I mean, technically we can turn hundred, sure, and some even more, but it’s hardly an average.”

“Well, then even more so. What if we get together and still hunt vampires and you die?”

“Fuck off, I won’t. Getting good at this sword thing. Got a big bad wolf to look after me. What if you die, huh? That might happen too? Besides, not like I’m at deaths door yet, is it? Got a good 40 years left probably. Possibly. Be a bit old and wrinkly by then, possibly, but everything doesn’t have to be planned decades in advance, you know.”

“I know,” Lucian agreed, “I know, but it’s still… It’s a lot. It’s been a long time. But I do… I do want to try, I think, if you do.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Don’t quite know how you humans do it these days, though.”

“Well,” begun Peter, whose heart was audibly soaring, whose chest felt like it might any minute explode into a cloud of butterflies, “there is often kissing involved now, very on trend, I hear.”

“Yes, we did have that back in the middle ages also.”

“Right.” Peter said, “gonna be respectful this time. Mindful of boundaries. Making sure we’re on the same page. Would it be good with you if I kissed you now?”

“Appreciate the thoroughness,” Lucian said with a smile, “yes, please do.”

So Peter scooted a little bit closer, extricating his hand from Lucian’s so he could cup the lycan’s face, and leaned in, bringing their lips together. Let his hands slip into Lucian’s hair, which was good, felt good for pulling him closer. And then there was a hand on the back of his neck, another on his shoulder, and Lucian’s tongue against his lips and fuck, yes, good, excellent. Peter pulled back for a moment, resting his forehead against Lucian’s.

“So, good, yeah?”

“Good,” Lucian agreed, “very.”

“You know,” Peter said, “I think this is a very good idea. Good job me.”

“Good job you,” Lucian told him, and leaned in to kiss him again.

Peter squirmed his way out from the blanket he had absolutely not been hiding under, hissing briefly at the sudden cold, and moved so he was almost straddling one of Lucian’s legs, holding Lucian a few inches away, so he could look at him.

“Sorry,” he said, “been trying to keep myself from staring to much at you, but now it’s probably not weird if I do, so I’m gonna take the chance while I have it.”

Lucian had, as had already been established, a very good face. Bright eyes, the colour of which Peter couldn’t quite define, seeming in different lights grey or blue or brown. An elegant nose. Good beard. Good and very pretty mouth, a little red from kissing. Good hair. A good amused smile, which made his cheeks and eyes crinkle up in a very endearing way. A few smooth and pale scars that Peter hadn’t noticed before, at his forehead, a few circling his throat.

“What are these?” he asked, carefully tracing the dots with a finger.

“Spiked silver collar,” Lucian told him.

“What, like a goth thing? Doesn’t quite seem like your scene.”

“No,” Lucian agreed, “but it was the vampires’ thing. To keep us in line. Make sure if we’d try to change that it would kill us.”

“Shit, I’m sorry, that’s terrible! Shouldn’t have asked, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Lucian said, one of his hands settling on Peter’s back, “The vampire responsible is dead. And it’s a long time ago.”

“Why does it scar, though? Thought you healed almost instantly?”

“Ah,” Lucian said, “not when it’s silver. Doesn’t kill me, or at least has yet to do so, but it takes more time and effort to heal. Toxic, you see. Or maybe it’s technically an allergen. Not sure of the specifics, just the realities.”

“Oh. Okay. So it’s not like, you start burning as soon as it touches you, like vampires and sunlight?”

“No, not at all. It’s… It’s not pleasant, and painful is the exposure is too extended, like, say, wearing a collar for 195 years straight, but it’s not serious in the short term.”

“Got it,” Peter said, “no wearing any silver jewellery round you, then. Can do.”

He looked at Lucian again, considering, and leaned in to kiss him again, lips moving against each other, soft and gentle. He licked at Lucian’s lips, tongue moving against Lucian’s when they opened, hot and wet and oh, a hand tugging at his hair, good, another pulling him down to more firmly grind against Lucian’s thigh. Peter let out an almost pathetically needy whine. Lucian’s hand was just fiddling with the zipper of Peter’s hoodie when there came the faint sound of a motor, growing in volume as it approached.

“You expecting anyone?” Peter asked, very much regretting the feelings of Lucian’s lips no longer against his.

“No, I don’t think- Oh. Shit, right. I, uh, called the car towing place.”

“What, for me?”

“Yeah. Thought you might be regretting saying you wanted to talk. Might want to get out of here as soon as possible. Also, you’ve a show tonight, right? Good to get back in time.”

Peter’s face fell, just a little.

“You thought I’d chicken out.”

“I thought you might,” Lucian corrected gently, “but you proved me wrong. Very happy to be proved wrong about that.”

He punctuated the statement with a kiss.

“I think you ought to head back to the city when you can. I’m staying out here for the night, but we’ll meet up and talk more soon, yes?”

“Sure,” Peter said, “ _talk_.”

“Either. Both.”

Lucian kissed him again, soft and chaste, before encouraging him to get up.

“Sure,” Peter said, disentangling his limbs from Lucian’s with only moderate regret, “okay, we can do that. I’ll try and be a little less smelly and dusty by then.”

“I’m gonna brag to my therapist about how well this went,” he said, mostly to himself.

“You- you told your therapist about me?” Lucian’s eyes were wide.

“Oh! Just that you’re a guy I fancied, nothing about your, err… fuzzy howling nature, promise. But that’s, well, maybe not here, but in L.A. I’m pretty sure telling your therapist about someone is like, 1.5th base.”

Lucian stared at him, seemingly baffled.

“It’s- oh, you’re too old.”

“Ah, perhaps,” Lucian said.

“One last kiss?” Peter asked, trying to flutter his eyelashes prettily, but they were sticking together, smudged uncomfortably by layers of old eyeliner.

And Lucian, the very good, very excellent lycan, obliged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am always scared to have stuff happen too quick, without enough build up to justify it, but listen. Fic is inherently self indulgent, so fuck it.


	14. February 13th, Vegas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soft human/wolf interactions with only a little pyrotechnics

“No, you don’t understand,” Lucian insisted, “Mr. Vincent will want to see me.”

“That’s what they all say,” the man cruelly keeping Lucian from the backstage area argued, with the air of someone who does not care what happens but is set, nevertheless, on doing his job.

Lucian would call Peter, but there were still a few minutes left of the show, and so he was unlikely to pick up his phone. So he crossed his arms and glared glared at the man. The thing, the unfortunate irritating thing with Peter being a human, and one so embedded in the world around him, was that Lucian could not simply knock this man out, or grow fangs at him, but no. He had to talk. Hadn’t even thought to bring cash to bribe him with.

“Look. I know it’s your job to keep me out, but-”

“You can wait where they sell the signed posters like everyone else.”

“I don’t want a signed poster, I want to be able to su-”

“You again. What’s happening here?”

The voice was faintly familiar, and Lucian thought it might be the ticket lady he had talked to when he went to see the show. He couldn’t remember. How was one meant to remember people when they wore uniforms?

“Mr. Vincent like you enough to have you come back for seconds?”

Yeah, same lady. Lucian did not envy the people with whom Peter usually slept, this was… uncomfortable. He felt terribly aware that they both seemed to judge him, to think he was just desperate for the sexual validation of someone famous and good looking, and it made his skin crawl. And was he trying to get in there to surprise Peter back stage? Yes. Had he thought that they might, perhaps, explore sex in the very large and comfortable looking bed he’d glimpsed when last he was at Peter’s place? Sure! Repeated thoughts, even. While trying to fall asleep in his usual form, which, after spending over a week sleeping as a wolf, was challenging. Human brains were much harder to make be quiet and sleepy than wolf ones. 

“I, look, this-” Lucian argued without much direction, getting distracted when he heard the sound of applause from within the theatre. 

“Fine,” he said, “all-right, you win.”

“Just gonna wait and call him.”

He slouched against the wall, getting out his phone. Last time he was going to try to surprise Peter, clearly. 

**Lucian:** I’m out in the lobby, they won’t let me in.

It was a few minutes before Peter replied, during which the employees eyed him with suspicion.

 **Peter:** Ure here!

 **Peter:** 1 sec

 **Peter:** Well, more like 2 min, but

About ten minutes later Peter threw open the door with the appropriate amount of drama. He was still in full costume, wig and dramatic long coat and all.

“You!” he exclaimed, pointing at Lucian, flames shooting out of his sleeve at the gesture.

“Me,” Lucian agreed, a smile tugging at his lips.

He really had chosen a ridiculous human. Peter approached, coat flapping, and Lucian wondered whether it was made to do that, or Peter had somehow made them install fans spreading air around at just the right height, specifically for that purpose.

“Good to see you,” Peter murmured, before pulling him into a kiss.

It was soft and chaste, all closed lips, and Peter’s big fake hair hid it almost entirely from the surrounding world.

“I’ll have a word with them about letting you go wherever you want, yeah? Which people were you talking to?”

He kept his voice low, enough so as not to be overheard, wanting, presumably, to keep up his character while in costume.

“I’m not ratting out your employees, Peter. I’d rather you not make a big thing of it, yeah? Still trying to be vaguely in hiding, you know.”

“Ah, shit. Sorry, I didn’t think-”

“It’s all-right,” Lucian assured him, taking Peter’s hand and squeezing, “just remember for next time?”

“Course! Course. I’ll, uh, figure something out, something more discreet.”

Lucian kept a polite distance in the lift up to Peter’s flat, but when they stepped into the room now only halfway filled with weapons he kissed Peter, slid his hands around his waist, bare beneath the coat. An excellent costume, he thought, though the fake facial hair felt weird, slightly too synthetic against his face. But oh, it suited him, this look, however ridiculous it was. Fit his personality.

Peter’s skin was hot, and he pressed against Lucian, winding his hand’s into his hair, holding him close. It was more intense than they had gotten out in the desert a few days before, but perhaps that was merely because they had been interrupted. Lucian wondered whether Peter had thought of him in the intervening days too. 

He let Peter lead him into the living space, where the view of the city and its bright lights illuminated the otherwise dark room. Accepted the drink he was offered. This one was clear, rather than green, a cleaner and less sweet taste. Considerate.

He settled into one of the armchairs, sipping the drink, alternating between looking out at the city below and watching Peter shed pieces of his stage character, until he was left only in the very tight and very low leather trousers. Despite the obvious impracticality of the costume for any actual vampire hunting, it did look very good on him. Well, impracticality for all things, really, he looked like every step was a challenge, like he’d quite forgotten how hips were supposed to work, but Lucian realised he found it more endearing than absurd. 

It felt good to like someone. To have someone he looked forward to seeing, someone he could touch, someone he could be himself with, who didn’t seem to mind any of what he was, despite having seen the less human parts of him. It was admirable for a human, taking it so well. Probably being exposed to vampires before he was old enough to have completely stopped believing in the supernatural was key. Never having had that certainty humans seemed to develop as they grew into adults that anything but what they themselves knew to be true could be real. 

“You seem thoughtful,” Peter said.

He had settled in the chair opposite, sprawling so low that he looked seconds from sliding out of it.

“I’m just..” Lucian began, unsure still of how guarded or open he was supposed to be, what would or would not put Peter off, “glad to be here, with you.”

That was fine, that was… true, if not the full extent of it. He’d known from the start that Peter was attracted to him, that was an advantage of lycan senses, although, frankly, Peter was obvious enough about it that a human probably would have realised, too. And he’d known he was attracted back. Had knew that he liked him, which was why he had tried to keep his distance for a while. Attachments were always complicated, and ones with humans, especially. But he had given himself away, the second time they met. When he had found himself unable to leave him behind, or to dump him on the horror that was the American medical system. Sure, Peter seemed like he could afford it, and given his fame and his job, it would probably not have raised any suspicion if he, heavily concussed, rambled about werewolves, but still. Part of him had wanted to take care of the human. Had wanted to find some way to know that they would meet again, to perhaps gain the man’s gratitude.

“Very glad you’re here too,” Peter told him, rubbing at his eye and smearing the already smudged eyeliner across the bridge of his nose.

He didn’t seem to notice. Lucian wanted, very badly, to kiss him.

“And I’m sorry about earlier, I know you, I mean. Probably it’s not great for you to be seen with me, huh? I’m not that famous, but people tend to snap pictures when they see me around. And definitely when I’m in costume.”

“It’s fine, I don’t expect that to be the kind of thing you’re used to. But yes. It would be unfortunate if too many pictures of me wound up online. Especially as you are, well, quite easy to locate.”

Peter grinned uncomfortably, looking like he wanted to keep apologising.

“So no very visibly hanging out, we can do that. Stay up here, go to your place, go out into the desert. Probably other ways, too. We can make this work. Will make it work. I really want it to work.”

-

“Have I ever told you that you’re super hot?”

They were lying on Peter’s bed. It was massive, nearly as wide as it was long, all exquisitely fluffed pillows, and what Lucian felt sure were probably luxurious and expensive sheets, but which felt like normal cotton to him. They were still dressed. Well, Peter as much as he ever was, the low cut trousers barely covering his ass, and shirtless from the start. He had unbuttoned Lucian’s shirt, though, and was resting his head there, and arm slung across his middle, a leg over one of Lucian’s.

“A few times, yes” Lucian said, smiling.

“I- what? Really? When?” Peter asked, twisting around until he was looking up at Lucian with a frown.

“When you hit your head last year,” Lucian explained, “you kept calling me hot werewolf man.”

“Oh.”

Peter looked terribly embarrassed, and it was, Lucian thought, quite cute. He leaned over awkwardly so he could press a light kiss to Peter’s lips.

“Don’t worry, you were very nice and enthusiastic about it.”

Peter grimaced uncomfortably.

“I’ll, uh, try not to hit my head again.”

“Good goal,” Lucian agreed, “but mainly because your skull is very fragile and probably can’t regenerate very fast.”

“You really don’t know much about how humans work, huh?”

Lucian shrugged as best he could, what with laying down and having Peter half on top of him.

“Never really had the need. I’ve not really had much close dealings with them- with you. And what it used to be, in the early days, was mostly angry mobs, only unlike in the films they had crossbows rather than pitchforks.”

“They attacked you?”

Peter had moved, resting his head on crossed arms on top of Lucian’s chest, one finger absent-mindedly catching in the curls of hair there. Big brown eyes were watching him, shining with interest, and it felt good. Felt flattering to have someone be genuinely interested, in him, in the things that had happened to him. To have someone to really talk to after so much time spent on his own.

“Mostly it was while we were still enslaved by the vampires. They managed the area poorly, paid too little attention to the human villages and towns in the area. Kept demanding higher and higher taxes, while not giving much back in terms of protection.”

“Protection from what? Like they demanded money for not drinking their blood?”

“No, not at all. The corvinid vampires don’t, mostly, drink human blood. These days because they can get the synthetic stuff, can do it without attacking humans, but they used to subsist mainly on animal blood. And the odd… volunteer. But no, protection from the werewolves.”

“Thought you didn’t like that word?”

“Not us. The generation that came before. The truly feral ones, who once turned could never return to their human form, and whose minds were almost as beastly as their bodies. They had no problem attacking or eating the humans.”

“Then, and no offence Lucian, I can kind of see their side.”

“Oh, no, absolutely, I understand them. They had every right to attack the vampires, but shockingly they were smart enough to do so in the daytime, and so we, the lycans, forbidden to transform so we could properly protect ourselves, were the ones to fight and die.”

“That does seem unfair,” Peter agreed.

“Yes, to both the humans and us. Though I didn’t think so at the time. It was… It took me a really long time to the realise that the vampires weren’t right. That we weren’t naturally inferior to them, meant to be their mistreated servants. That their veneer of sophistication wasn’t something to aspire to.”

Peter leaned closer, kissing him, soft and quick.

“But you did. You did realise, and free your people. And that’s good. It’s enough.”

Lucian let his fingers trace down the side of Peter’s face. He was looking at him, so very earnest, large eyes in pools of increasingly badly smudged eyeliner, so full of understanding. He couldn’t, of course, understand, not really, but he tried. And he supported him. And Lucian felt an intense desire to hold him, to protect him from all the things he knew to be out there, things like himself. Creatures.

“Thank you,” he said, eventually, and Peter grinned at him, and for all the man had been through, there was something so bright and hopeful and innocent about it.

“For all that we are forced to live in hiding more than before, I think things are definitely better now, between all three species. Well, certainly between us.”

“Oh, yes, agreed, very good,” Peter said, laying his head down, moving his arms so the side of his face rested just above Lucian’s heart.

Peter yawned.

“Sorry, not bored of you talking, just a little sleepy.”

“That’s all right,” Lucian said, draping an arm over Peter’s shoulder, “we can sleep.”

It didn’t, in the end, take long for Peter to drift off. Lucian stayed awake for hours, partially because he was lost in thought, partially because Peter had not turned off the lights, and Lucian didn’t want to move him so he could go turn them off. No matter. He had no urgent business to attend to in the morning, and he was perfectly happy to spend a while looking down at Peter, running a hand down his back and feeling him press even closer to Lucian in his sleep.


	15. February 14th, Vegas, Peter's Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes a whole chapter has to be set in a bed, and there can be many reasons for this, not just the one you're thinking

When the morning came, sunlight shining through the windows, Peter found himself, against all better judgement, awake. He had moved in his sleep, no longer laying on top of Lucian, which, though less cozy, his neck would probably thank him for. He missed his youth's ability to recover from anything.

Very slowly, careful not to disturb the sleeping lycan, he propped himself up on his elbow, the better to see him. Lucian was beautiful, but even in sleep he looked tired. Dark circles under his eyes that looked like by this point they might be permanent. The hint of tired lines, though by all logic he should not have aged since the first half of the 1200s. Which was just fucking wild, and not something Peter was sure he would ever be able to wrap his head around. But all the centuries had had an effect on him. They way he carried himself, like a great burden rested on his shoulders at all times. He had told Peter some of what happened a decade ago, the almost complete destruction of his pack by vampires. He was never completely clear, though, on why he blamed himself so much. Something about believing vampires could be better than they were, and being mistaken. One day Peter would ask.

That was another strange thing, to Peter. The intertwined nature of the two species, the fact of their shared history. Stemming, as far as he understood, from the same ancient person. Which meant those vampires were far more closely related to the lycans than to any other bloodsuckers. But then, why would the supernatural deign to follow nature's rules and conventions.

He let himself slip down again, laying on his side, facing Lucian. It was strange to think this man, this ancient and powerful magic being wanted to be with him. Though successful by human standards, all he did must seem so insignificant to someone like that. Someone who was what? He stopped his train of thought to do some mental math. 767 when Peter was born? That was a bit fucked up, wasn't it. But then, vampires in films and books were always seducing young girls, sometimes even minors, so he supposed winding up with a man hurtling inexorably towards middle age wasn't that bad by comparison. And werewolves in films rarely got to seduce anyone at all. That must be challenging, having every depiction of what you are be as some horrifying monster, incapable of thought or control, always eventually killed.

He squirmed, moving just a little closer, so he could rest an arm across Lucian's chest. He was so warm, more so than any regular human Peter had had in his bed. Good thing the penthouse had powerful airconditioning, or this would be rough when summer came. If- well. If this were still happening when summer came. God he hoped so.

Peter must have drifted off again at some point, because when next he opened his eyes, Lucian was looking at him.

"Whunh," Peter said, then coughed, and added "morning."

"Sleep well?" Lucian asked.

"Yep. No bad vampire dreams. Might be having a big scary wolf man scares them away. Maybe I'll havd to keep you here, test that out."

Lucian smiled, and, with the window behind him, and the sun at just the right angle, there seemed to be a halo of light behind him. It fit his vaguely jesus-y choice in hair and beard style, and seemed very funny to Peter, who buried his face in Lucian's chest to keep himself from laughing. It was a good chest, he thought, in which to be buried. Warm, with the solid rhythm of a heart, calming. Good smelling.

"Such an experiment certainly seems worth testing out," Lucian agreed, and Petter could feel the vibration of his voice through his body.

Peter had to congratulate himself on an excellent choice in werewolf to seduce. A warm hand stroked down his back, and he tried to lean into both it and the rest of Lucian at the same time, which resultet mainly in helpless wriggling that seemed to amuse Lucian.

"You have anywhere to be today?" Lucian asked, which sounded like the precursor to something very promising indeed.

Peter groaned.

"Have a meeting," he muttered into Lucian's chest, on the presumption that magic lycan hearing could cancel out any incoherence, "not till like 4 in the afternoon though. Gotta talk about how well the show's doing, what I can do to innovate, encourage repeat audiences and such. Bullshit."

"Yes, the show is clearly flawless," Lucian agreed with what Peter refused to recognise as sarcasm.

"It is!" He insisted, pulling back so he could look Lucian in the face, "humans don't care about accuracy, wolf boy, they want spectacle, and scantily dressed vampires and slutty vampire hunters! Flash and fire and nothing that's actually scary, just the visuals of it. It's a fantasy, not a horror, despite the aesthetics of it!"

Lucian leaned in to kiss his forehead.

"In that case, I repeat, flawless, but with slightly more sincerity."

"Good, appreciated," Peter said with a haughtiness undercut slightly the pillow indents on his face.

He wondered whether they could stay here forever, in this wonderful bubble of fresh infatuation. Peter knew it would fade a little, with time, no matter what happened, but looking at Lucian's face, feeling the warmth of his skin, seeing the look in his eyes, that was difficult to imagine. He wanted, forever, to feel like he could spend days, weeks, staring into those eyes.

"So let's make the best of the hours we have then," Lucian suggested, trailing a hand from Peter's shoulder, along his ribs, down to his hips, to where the trousers he had slept in dug into his skin.

"Yeah. Oh! Very yeah."

Lucian leaned over Peter to kiss him, nudging him till he lay on his back, and then leaning an arm on the far side of him. He hovered, long hair hanging down, framing their faces, and Peter felt Lucian place a leg between his and yes, this was good, this was fucking excellent. And about, hopefully, to be excellent fucking.

"In that case," Peter said, voice more breathless and significantly less coolly seductive than he intended, "I'm going to need you to be wearing less clothes." 

And he reached up, sliding Lucian's shirt from his shoulders with only a minimum of graceless fiddling and adjusting of weight. Let Lucian sit up and try to get his trousers off.

“You were being serious about the time it takes you to get into these, I see.”

“Deadly. But they look good, though, right?”

He wiggled his hips for emphasis, further sabotaging Lucian’s efforts, earning a good natured sigh.

“Oh, very,” he agreed, “you know, while trying to find out more about you, a while back, I did find a website dedicated entirely to pictures of how good your ass looks in them.”

“Yes,” Peter said, not quite managing a straight face, “I run that one.”

Rather than the hour warned, it was only a few minutes before they were both naked. And look, Peter had seen Lucian naked before, but that was months earlier, and he had still been busy trying to get over the whole big ass wolf monster thing, and so he had to take a moment, just to look. To admire just how muscular Lucian was, power coiled up beneath a thin layer of skin. The cock was very nice also, nestled in dark curls, beginning to show interest.

Peter was on his knees, sat between Lucian’s legs, nudging them apart. He had done this, taking some hot man or woman up here, to fuck, to seduce, so many times, and yet now he faltered. Just looked down at Lucian’s expectant face, not entirely certain what to do. Well, not mechanically, he knew that, but how did one go about this with someone one cared about? It wasn’t that long since Ginger, and he’d cared about her but- Fuck, no, bad train of thought now, his dead ex was not a good-

“Peter? Are you okay?”

“Yep! Fine, great, good, splendid, I-”

“We don’t have to do this now. I just- the mood seemed right, but we can wait, we can do something else.”

“No, it’s. Uh, brain just. Went somewhere not ideal.”

“Hey,” Lucian said, voice calming, taking Peter’s hand, guiding him to lay down beside him.

“It’s you,” Peter said, and immediately regretted how that came out.

“I-”

“No! Fuck, that sounds bad. It’s. I like you, right? Like a lot. And it’s been a while since last time I did this with someone I have feelings for, right, it’s different than just banging someone because you’re both attracted to each other, right? So I couldn’t help thinking, see, about the last person I cared about that I banged, and that was, you know, my dead girlfriend, and listen, I know you’re not supposed to bring up your exes, and especially not dead ones, and even more especially right when you are going to, you know, get down with your current… person you’re very incredibly into, and I’m probably not explaining this good, shit, but-”

Lucian shut him up by pulling him into a kiss.

“It’s fine, Peter, I understand. Maybe I tried to force it a little bit, let’s just.. Take our time, right? It’s supposed to be good, not stressful.”

Peter groaned, and hid his face in the crook of Lucian’s neck.

“’S embarrassing, I’m s’posed to be good at this.”

“I have no doubt that you are,” Lucian told him, mostly with compassion and understanding, but also a hint of amusement.

Peter made a noise in response that held no particular meaning, and rubbed his cheek against Lucian’s scratchy beard. Hooked his leg over Lucian’s so his half hard cock rested against the other man’s thigh, enjoying, for the moment, just the contact. Made another noise, that held the idea that this was good, but did not elaborate on the concept.

“Do you want to tell me about her?”

“I- what?”

“Your girlfriend, who died. Do you? It might… help? Not with, you know, us doing… anything. But you feel better?”

“Maybe,” Peter conceded.

“Her name was Ginger,” he added, after a moment, “and she died here. Well, not in this bed, but just by the door to the lift.”

“Was she?”

“What?”

“Ginger?”

“Oh. No. But she was great. Absolute bitch, and I mean that in the best way possible. Didn’t put up with my shit at all. Great in bed, great on stage. Was my victim, right, in the show. The damsel in distress who got saved from the sexy evil vampire ladies. Was how we met. Met up after her audition and fucked. Was kind of, I guess, an openish relationship sort of situation? Also a lot of threesomes. Couple foursomes.”

“I see, now, why your bed is so large,” Lucian commented.

“Oh, yeah. Practicalities. But we lived together for a few years. I’m not sure I loved her, but I think I did, you know?”

“And you miss her?”

“Yeah. It’s you know, it’s hard not to, when you keep living somewhere, and you’re so used to another person being there that you keep expecting them? And everything reminds you of them. But that doesn’t mean that-”

“I know,” Lucian assured him.

“You don’t stop caring about someone because they die, and you don’t replace them even though there is someone new. We are capable of multitudes of love.”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, and tried not to overthink the implication that what he and Lucian had was love.

It was vastly, absurdly too early for such a concept, of course, but Peter felt he could love Lucian, that he would, given the time to get to know him enough to do so. He was certainly _in_ love with him.

Peter let his hand wander across the planes of Lucian’s body, feeling the warmth of skin, the way the muscles hidden beneath twitched when he touched somewhere sensitive. Pressed a kiss to Lucian’s neck, then another, upwards toward the curve of his jaw. Lucian took Peter’s hand in his, bringing it up to his face, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles and it was so very tender and soft that had Peter been standing he might have collapsed with the emotion of it.

“Do you want to take it slow, still?” Lucian asked, voice so soft.

“Want you,” Peter replied, and kissed him. 

Lucian’s mouth was hot and wet, and Peter thought his tongue detected just the faintest hint of fangs, a thought that went straight to his cock. He was going to have to confront what this said about him at some point, but now was not it. Biting down on Lucian’s lower lip he ground into him, feeling himself rapidly hardening, feeling his blood rushing downward when Lucian moaned, pulling him closer.

“Mhmm, and you too,” Lucian said, his voice satisfyingly breathy.

A large hand closed around Peter’s cock and it was, yes, fucking excellent, just the right amount of pressure and he thrust into it, while kissing Lucian, his movements a little uncoordinated. They moved, adjusting, allowing for more fluid movement. Peter reached down to similarly stroke Lucian, but the angle wasn’t right, their arms colliding. So he put his hands everywhere else they could reach instead, running over muscular arms, down his chest and stomach, into his hair to hold him close, to kiss him until they both were out of breath.

In the end, it took him embarrassingly short to come, but he chose to attribute this fact to Lucian kissing down his neck, using just a hint of teeth in tandem with expert hand movements. The teeth and neck thing was another thing he would definitely have to deal with at some point, but right now his softening cock was still in Lucian’s hand, his cum all over both of them, and he felt like all of his skeleton had melted in the most pleasant way.

“Mmm gonna … you too just a…” he murmured into Lucian’s hair.

“Feel good,” he added, as Lucian, the absolutely filthy werewolf, licked a few stray drops of Peter’s cum off his hand.

“Hng,” he added, but his cock wasn’t quite up to respond the way his brain felt it should yet.

He pushed himself up lazily, leaning over Lucian to kiss him deeply.

“Give me,” he said, “one minute.”

And he rested his head on Lucian’s chest for a little while, hearing the soothing rhythm from within it, his hand moving slowly down, running his fingers lightly over Lucian’s cock, and at the ensuing extremely gratifying whine closing his hand, stroking languidly. The angle wasn’t ideal, but he just needed to stay there a moment longer, and from the way Lucian’s nails were digging into his back he didn’t seem to mind. 

When Lucian’s movements and thrusting started to become just a little impatient Peter moved further down the bed.

“Am I right in assuming magic lycan healing powers mean immunity to STIs?”

“What a sexy question,” Lucian said drily, “but yes, that appears to be the case so far.”

“Nice,” Peter said, “just staying safe. Fragile human and all that.”

Lucian groaned in sexual frustration, and Peter took pity on him, leaning down to lick a long stripe up his shaft. This resulted, pleasingly, in more needy moans, and a hand finding its way into his hair, clearly trying very hard not to pull, but not entirely succeeding. Peter licked his lips, taking him into his mouth, focusing on keeping his teeth out of the way. Savoured the feeling of the thick length on his tongue, kept his hand around the base. Felt the very restrained thrusts. Concentrating on taking him further in, slowly, getting himself used to the feeling and how to do it without choking. 

It took a little while, but Peter got into a good rhythm, bobbing his head, hand shallowly pumping around the length he didn’t fit in his mouth, tongue swirling over hot, hard flesh. Lucian was making all sorts of delicious noises, head thrown back, eyes closed. Peter wished, briefly, that they would open, pale blue and otherworldly, but that wasn’t a request for their first time together. 

Lucian’s impatient little thrusts sped up, a little, the hands in Peter’s hair clutching a little harder, and still Peter wasn’t quite expecting it when Lucian came. He coughed, tried to swallow, got some of it, more dribbling out of his mouth as Lucian’s cock slipped out, his hands loosening their grip.

“Sorry, sorry, should have warned you,” Lucian said between pants, but Peter shook his head.

“’S all,” he began, stopped, swallowed again, licked his lips while making deliberate eye contact, “all good.”

“It’s, uh, it’s been a little while,” Lucian admitted.

“But it was good?” Peter asked, perhaps a little more insistently than he should.

“Oh,” Lucian said, “yes, very.”

He motioned for Peter to come closer, and pulled him into a deep kiss, wrapping his arms around him. Peter felt sated and sticky and tired and just a little bit gross in the best way.

“M not quite up for moving yet but I have a suggestion for in a little while.”

“Yes?”

“Bathtub.”

“Yes.”

Excellent venue for further nudity, bathtubs, and also for feeling less sticky. And, as much as he hated to admit anyone other than he was right, he had to retroactively agree with his therapist. Sex with Lucian had definitely not lessened his feelings for him. Hadn’t increased them either, but had, he supposed, validated them as an extremely good choice. 

“This is good,” he announced into Lucian’s cheek, “you’re good.”

“...Thank you?”

Peter made a noise halfway between a snort and a laugh. He snuggled just a little closer to Lucian, wanting as much contact between them as humanly (lycanly?) possible. He amended his earlier thought. This was the moment, the one to stay in forever. The one that felt like sunshine on his skin where it wasn’t touching Lucian, like warmth and safety and like nothing could ever hurt him. Soon they would get up, get clean, and he would see whether he had to change the sheets, and they would have a three in the afternoon breakfast and he would go to his stupid meeting, but for now, just now, he was perfectly satisfied, perfectly happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk if I've said this on this fic yet, probs not, but find me on tumblr @indiasierrabravo if you want to see me rant in depth in tags about how Lucian deserves better or to pressure me into drawing him more. Or both of them, even, haven't done that yet. Or Peter like, at all, which is a shame.  
> Also yes they bang on valentines day I did not realise this until now but I guess fitting? Ish?


	16. February 25th, 2013, A, Lately, Not Super Abandoned Shack Outside Vegas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Werewolf Gimmick

Peter was happy. Not a delirious wondrous exciting happy, but a calm, sated happy. A happiness born from simply being where he was, with who he was with. It was not a kind of happy he had felt often in his life, and he intended to enjoy it for as long as he could.

Lucian was laying on the ground, his head resting in Peter's lap, turned inwards against his stomach to avoid the brightness of the sun. Peter could feel his breath through the thin fabric of the t-shirt he wore. One of his hands rested on Lucian's chest, tucked under the open collar of his shirt, just above his heart, where he could feel it. Could imagine it beat only for him.

They were, ostensibly, training, but the swords lay discarded a few meters away, and their quick water break had lasted about an hour so far. It was hot, and it felt so much more right to relax and doze in each other's company than to play at combat. They had been together a few weeks so far, and it was still all dreamy sighs and kissing at every opportunity, every chance to spend time together taken. So training had been rigorous, though mostly in the sense that they spent all of the weekend together, except for the few hours around Peter's shows. Still, he had got some good practise in, and was beginning to feel like he had some good moves.

"Want to get back into it?" Peter asked, looking down at Lucian.

He felt a sigh against his stomach, and the scratching of bristly beard when Lucian replied.

"I'm very comfortable right here," the lycan argued, and put his hand on top of Peter's through his shirt for emphasis.

"Can't argue with that," Peter agreed.

He too felt very comfortable. The bright warm sun and the weight of Lucian's head on his lap both helping to make him feel sleepy, even though it was only a little after noon. He had come out here bright and early that morning, even though he'd gone out with his co-stars after the show last night. He'd been good, though, only had a couple of drinks, nothing a brisk drive and few coffees couldn't fix. It was, according to his calendar, the night of the full moon, and he had felt that it was a night he should endeavour to spend with his what? Boyfriend? Lover? Given all the werewolfness and such.

Lucian didn't _have to_ transform on the full moon, he had explained, but it was less effort to do so than not to. Younger lycans had no choice, and Lucian hadn't either when he was young, and had had his transformations used against him, been forced to bite and turn humans when the vampires had discovered that they became like him. With age, Lucian had explained, the moon exerted less and less power over him, but it was good, he felt, to return to that shape, to not pretend to be human when he was not. This was all still extremely weird to Peter, but he wanted to be there for it still. He had heard Lucian talk of how much he had hated the wolf part of himself for years, centuries, after the vampires' indoctrination, and the wolf was clearly a very important part of his identity. More than that, Peter knew he had acted afraid when he had seen Lucian in his wolf form, had talked of how disturbing he had found watching the transformation to be, and he wanted to, through his presence, show Lucian that he accepted and lo- well, liked him, for all parts of what he was. Even though he knew, obviously knew, that he was lucky in very many ways, he had dated people, both men and women, who had been uncomfortable with his bisexuality, and that had always made him feel like shit. He never wanted Lucian to feel like that, never wanted him to think there were intrinsic aspects of him that Peter wanted to change, however unchangeable they might be. So he planned to stay for the night, even though he knew Lucian would probably be running around the desert doing wolf things, whatever those might be, for much of the time. Hunting, maybe? Howling at the moon? Fighting the local coyotes? He didn't know, and was reluctant to ask in case these were all horribly offensive stereotypes.

In the last few weeks, or, let’s be honest, months, Peter had watched a lot of werewolf films. Like a lot a lot. It had been research, of sorts, or so he’d told himself. He had not learned much of value, but had a greater appreciation for the leaps in special effects technology over the last century or so. Werewolves had been unfortunate when it came to representation. All innocent humans turned flesh eating monsters, who eventually had to be put down for the happy ending to occur. Victims of a horrible curse, leading to both their own death and also their loved ones, usually by their own paw. None of them seemed to have anything to do with Lucian’s brand of wolfishness, though. None of them seemed to have many werewolves that retained their minds when they transformed. Well, possibly Twilight, but that had also had a vampire that looked uncannily like Lucian, and on that basis alone he had discarded it as pure nonsense.

"I think," Lucian announced, "that I could stay here, right here, forever."

"On the ground or in my lap?"

"Both, though mostly the latter."

Lacking the spinal flexibility to lean down and kiss him, Peter pressed a kiss to the fingers of his free hand, and then pressed them to Lucian's lips. Lucian's tongue darted out to lick at Peter's fingers.

"Tease."

Lucian, eyes still closed, smiled up at him, both innocent and smug looking. Peter's heart swelled, and he wondered when he had gotten this sappy. Oh, well, old age was probably bound to make one sentimental, right? It was inevitable that he should look down at this very nice looking man, this handsome lycan, and have just the way he looked fill him with absolute joy, the fact that he was there, with him, because he wanted to, fill him with absolute contentment, with a feeling that whatever he was, he was good enough?

Lucian cracked open an eye, squinted against the sun.

“You’re smiling like an idiot,” he informed Peter, “I like it. You look happy.”

“Don’t I usually?”

Lucian shrugged against him.

“Lately, yes.”

“Well, then you know full well whose fault that is.”

Lucian looked entirely unapologetic.

-

Later that night, as the sun had begun to set, and they awaited the rise of the moon, Lucian moaned against him. His elbows were resting either side of Peter’s head, his hands cupping his face, eyes closing as Peter ground up against him, feeling how hard they both were, how desperately they wanted each other. Lucian bent down, kissing him, and for a moment Peter thought he could feel pointed fangs.

“I think,” Peter murmured into Lucian’s ear, “that I need you inside of me.”

Lucian made an utterly incomprehensible noise in reply, but Peter had a feeling it was an enthusiastic agreement. He scrambled off Peter inelegantly, stopping only to pull off his shirt, and started digging through the bag leaning against the wall. Peter used the opportunity to undress, removing his shirt, doing that spectacularly undignified thing where you remove your jeans while still laying down. He contorted himself into the very image of a sexy pose, wishing for a rose to hold between his teeth. His efforts were rewarded with a laugh when Lucian turned around, a small tube of lube gripped triumphantly in his hand.

“Not sexy?”

“Eeeh,” Lucian said, looking pained and amused.

“You know, I’ve had positive feedback on this in the past.”

“I’m not entirely sure I trust your previous partners, then, no offence.”

“Great, vast, insurmountable amounts of offence taken,” Peter proclaimed, and Lucian gave him what could have been construed as a pity kiss.

“You’re still wearing clothing,” Peter complained, crossing his arms.

“That can be remedied,” Lucian said, tossing the lube at Peter, and getting out of his trousers with far more ease than Peter.

Peter reached up to grasp Lucian’s hand, pulling him down. He had, for this express purpose, that is, sex, insisted on bringing some clean sheets out, on the grounds that just because Lucian had a magic immune system it didn’t mean Peter didn’t suspect the shack of containing several possibly malignant miniature ecosystems. And honestly, if it was that important the place looked abandoned, he could just hide it afterwards. 

Lucian kissed him, his forehead, his cheeks, his lips, down his throat. A slow line of dotted pecks down his sternum, down his belly, so slow and thorough Peter could scream, and so soft and tender he wanted to tug Lucian back up so he could kiss him, all slow and soft and deep.

“Nghn,” he encouraged, feeling Lucian’s lips curve into a smile.

“Please,” he added.

Which was, apparently, the magic word, because Peter felt Lucian’s tongue on his cock, then, a few seconds later, a cool, wet finger working its way slowly into him. Then Lucian’s mouth around him, and a second finger, scissoring, opening him up as Lucian swallowed around him.

“Fuck me, fucking I- please, Lucian, I need you to fuck me right fucking now please-”

Which earned him a third finger, but sudden cold air against his cock. He looked down at Lucian, and saw that Lucian’s eyes had gone pale, and that he had grown fangs which, okay, fair, not great for blowjobs probably, however much that had, indeed, been a recurring fantasy of his, but apparently his erotic dreams did not take practicalities into consideration. His cock twitched.

“Sorry,” Lucian said, frowning, “sorry. The moon. Moon’s fault, definitely. I’ll-”

“No!” Peter protested, slightly too quickly, “no, uh, please, please feel free to, uh, keep those.”

Lucian cocked his head to the side, squinting, and Peter clenched around his fingers, and Lucian bared his fangs in a grin.

“Sorry, does the big famous monster hunter have a monster kink?”

The was a sort of growly undertone to Lucian’s voice and it- look. It _did_ things to Peter.

“Mm, no, it’s, uh. You specific. Definitely. It’s- you’re-”

“I’m going to leave a review,” Lucian threatened, “ruin your reputation.”

“Have you seen the vampires in my show? It’s practically implied already.”

“Ah, shame. Guess I will have to devour you first, then, so they won’t get to you.”

Peter made an embarrassing high pitched noise, and nodded, somewhat frantically.

“Not- I mean. These, uh, fangs are pretty sharp, I don’t want to-”

“I know, I know, just, Lucian, I’m very serious, please just fuck me.”

Which, to his credit, Lucian pulled out his fingers, pressed a carefully closed mouth kissed to the head of Peter’s cock, and lined himself up. A blunt pressure to his hole, Lucian slowly, slowly pushing in. He was, as had previously been established a few times, but certainly not enough yet, as close to perfect as Peter had experienced. Filling him, stretching just the right amount, eyes squeezed shut, mouth slightly open, showing off fangs. Peter tried to memorise it, to sear the image, the feeling, all of this, into his brain forever. 

“You good?”

Peter nodded, wrapping his legs around Lucian’s waist, trying to pull him closer. Lucian pulled nearly all the way out, the thrust back in, not too fast, almost questioning. Then, easing into it, speeding up. Setting a rhythm, leaning down, kissing the space over Peter’s heart, licking across a nipple, grazing it with fangs, then the other, and Peter’s were deep in Lucian’s back, needing him closer, deeper, needing him to look at him with those beautiful, otherworldly eyes.

“Lucian?”

“Peter?”

“This is- god- fucking- very good, please- I’m so-”

“Yeah, I-”

Lucian wrapped his hand around Peter’s cock, not so much pumping as enabling him to thrust into it, both of them close, too close for much coordination. Peter pulled Lucian down into a (careful) kiss, gradually falling apart as neither managed to focus on anything but reaching their climaxes, on the feel of each other.

Peter came first, clenching around Lucian, thrusting, stuttering in his hand, spilling over himself, over Lucian’s hands. Lucian kept fucking into him for a few seconds, as Peter revelled in the aftershocks, watching Lucian’s face, then feeling him still inside him.

Lucian pulled out, then sank down next to Peter, resting his head on his chest.

“Good.”

“Very good.”

Peter felt like he was floating, like he was resting on clouds, like if he were to die right now, it would be fine, because this would be his last memory. Was this the orgasm talking? Absolutely. Did he still very much mean it? Yes. He leaned over to kiss the top of Lucian’s head, and was rewarded by his pressing himself even closer to Peter, all solid warmth and strength.

-

Darkness had fallen, and Lucian and Peter were sitting on the floor, facing each other.

“You sure you want to watch? It’s not too late to change your mind. It’s- it’s not something-”

“Nope. All decided, wolf boy. This is, you know, part of who you are. And I’m gonna be here for that. For you being very, uh, very big and scary and fluffy looking. Big cool scary werewolf boyfriend.”

Lucian raised his eyebrows.

“’M an idiot, stupid, only human, all right? I just. Want to be supportive, y’know?”

Lucian looked equal partscharmed and mystified, which was a 50% success rate, and that was pretty good for a first try.

“If you’re sure.”

“Very sure,” Peter confirmed, leaning in to kiss Lucian.

And Lucian, Peter supposed, let the moon take charge, even though they were, currently, inside. Growing, skin darkening, eyes turning completely black, fur sprouting. Fingers growing claws, muzzle growing fangs. And if he squinted, and tried very hard to tune out the noises that Lucian’s skeleton made as it changed, it was kind of, sort of, fine. 

He tried to see Lucian in the wolf’s face, tried to recognise the shapes of the eyes, or anything, but he couldn’t. Then again, these were also Lucian’s eyes, only larger, and completely black. Lucian’s face, only significantly more canine in shape. It was pretty fucking weird. But it was also, kind of cool. He took one of Lucian’s hands and/or paws in his. It was, well. It was mostly hand shaped, still, but with inch long claws that looked like they could tear steel. Lucian squeezed his hand, carefully.

“See? Big cool werewolf boyfriend. Super fluffy. 10/10, would pet again.”

Soft growl.

“What? Even cool badass wolves can be pettable.”

Huff of breath.

“Okay, right, whatever.”

He rose, and even sitting down Lucian’s head nearly reached his shoulder. He stroked a hand across the fur on Lucian’s head.

“See? Pettable.”

Lucian rose to his full height, fur nearly brushing the ceiling.

“Is this because I’m taller than you when you’re human?”

Another soft growl.

“No, I know it is. Enjoy it while it lasts, wolf boy.”

Lucian leaned down, licked Peter’s face.

“Eww. You’ve dog breath like this. Well. Wolf breath?”

Lucian stalked out of the shack. That sounded right, he thought. Walked was definitely the wrong word. Lurked, perhaps. Could you lurk with purpose? With direction? Peter was unsure. Whatever verb Lucian was doing, Peter followed him out, where the bright moon lit up the barren landscape. Watched him fall down on all fours, and disappear into the desert. Sat down, back against the wall, pulling his hood up over his head. Thought about his choices. Watched the moon.


	17. February 26th, 2013, The Desert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can one, ever, be entirely safe from ones past?  
> (Warning! Hint of suicidal thoughts! Not much. Also some fairly ungraphic violence.)

Lucian knew something was wrong before he got back, he could smell it. Or, rather, it was what he couldn’t smell, not from far enough away. Because the source was gone. His paws pounded against the hard rocks, he ran as fast as he could. The moon was starting to set, a faint hint of lighter purple lurking just beyond the horizon to the East. What Lucian’s nose should be picking up was Peter. Peter having fallen asleep, curled up under the only slightly smelly blanket, Peter having added to it with Lucian’s coat because desert nights got cold, and, as he claimed, a substitute for his absent external heat source. Peter having a stupid smile on his face as he slept because he for once was having a good dream.

It became increasingly obvious that Peter wasn’t there, and also that he’d not left of his own accord. His car was still parked a little way from the shack, and so was Lucian’s motorbike. As soon as Lucian got to the building, and he could tell there was no one there, he shed his fur and claws and size fluidly, and hurried into the building. It stank of vampire. Fuck. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply. Yes, this was a vampire from home. One of Corvinus’ descendants. Not one he recognized, though. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

The vampire, whoever they were, had ransacked the place before they kidnapped Peter. The contents of Lucian’s pockets were scattered on the floor. Peter’s phone, the stupid overpriced thing, was a pile of shattered glass in one corner. Lucian’s was still mostly whole, though the screen was cracked. One the wall the vampire had scrawled, in big bold white letters, the Hungarian for Beast, Go Home. Which, what? Home to Budapest? To the ruins of Castle Corvinus? To Romania? Just to Europe in general? To the moon? (You never knew with vampires) Lucian growled in frustration. Struggled into his clothes as quickly as he could, noticing at last that his amulet was gone. He let out the closest thing his human shaped throat could get to a proper anguished howl.

There was no smell of blood, so at least, for the moment, Peter was relatively unharmed. The vampire had not bit him, thankfully. They had, however, taken all the weapons, including those stashed under the hidden hatch in floor, and the ones still in the back of Peter’s car. Peter wouldn’t be happy with that, he’d told Lucian, in excruciating detail, about what a hassle getting people to sell you real ancient weapons on ebay was, especially when the things had to cross borders.

Home. Home. Fuck. He’d better start with his flat, easiest place to check. Then possibly Peter's place? He could probably break in, Peter would forgive him. Break in and let his PA know so she could deal with it. Peter paid her well, she'd be fine, if inconvenienced.

It was a vampire, it couldn’t genuinely be after Peter, surely? Not a vampire from home, that was too big a coincidence. So Peter was bait, bait for him. Fuck. He should have been more careful, but he hadn’t run into any vampires in a decade, how was meant to expect them here, in America, of all places? In a desert. Famously sunny places, deserts, dangerous for vampires, one would imagine. And yet. Perhaps it was because they were close to where vampires bats lived? 

He sped towards the city, the sun at his back, as if he were trying to outrun it. It was foolish, of course, idiotic to think he could have left his past behind, to think he could just flagrantly be happy for a while. Because he had been, truly, genuinely happy. He knew the effects of being in love were intoxicating, weren't everlasting, but with Peter it felt like they might well settle into a slightly more stable happiness. Like this might become their new and shared existence, united both by what had happened to them and what they brought out in each other.

The dry air stung his eyes, and rage was tearing at his insides. Rage at whatever piece of shit bloodsucker had taken Peter from him, rage at himself for having allowed hinself to become complacent, rage at Corvinus himself for ruining so many lives, at the vampires for everything they did. Sometimes, in dark moments, he would wish he had died back then, that the vampires would have killed him before he had to watch Sonja burn. But then, he reminded himself, the lycans might still have been enslaved, there might never have been another lycan willing to go full Spartacus on the vampires.

Part of Lucian's mind argued that if he never met him, Peter would be safe, but then, he had saved the human's life the first time they met, so that might not be entirely true. And Peter seemed genuinely to be happier now than when Lucian first met him. It felt wrong to lay the credit for that at his own feet, but it seemed like he had a little to do with it, though surely time and actively getting help for his trauma was also important. It was frustrating how little happiness one was entitled to before someone, usually some sort of malevolent vampire, snatched it away.

Lucian liked Peter. Really really liked him. Liked him in bed, liked him as a person, liked him as a friend. Liked him the way he had liked Sonja, perhaps? It felt traitorous to say so, especially after such short time, but the thought of losing the human was like having iron spikes driven into his chest. And if there should be any sort of life after undeath, Lucian would like to think that she would have wanted him to eventually move on, to be happy. As he had told Peter, they were all capable of more than a single love. Not that he loved Peter, not yet. Was in love, yes, it felt like that, and it might not be sustainable for centuries like his love for Sonja, but Peter had such a short time left anyway, human life spans were so small. Lucian thought he might like to be there for the remainder of it, should Peter want him to. Would it be weird watching him age? Sure. Would Lucian's mind keep suggesting he turn the human? Of course, but that would never be something Peter would consent to, Lucian felt certain of that. Of course, that all depended on whether Lucian would be able to find and save him.

The traffic was still light this early, and he got back to the city quite fast, roaring through nearly deserted streets. It was already getting warmer out by the time he parked behind his building.

He snuck in, as much as he could, keeping quiet. Smells were less clear here, in the city; the air more polluted, and so many more everywhere. Still, there was a hint of vampire he could detect, just a trace, a few hours old. Not as old as what he had smelled oit in the desert, though, so the vampire had probably stashed Peter somewhere before coming here, because there was no trace of his smell, other than what lingered on Lucian himself. There were _probably_ no traps. Still Lucian lingered, uncertain, for a minute or two outside his door. The door didn't seem to have been broken, and it remained locked, and when Lucian slowly slid it open, he realised why.

There was an envelope on the floor, thin, with a crudely drawn wolf on the front. Charming. Diplomacy was never a revered skill set among the bloodsuckers. All force and blackmail and manipulation.

_**I've got your pet human. Come alone and unarmed.** _

Then there was an address, which the internet informed Lucian was about a two hour drive away.

Alone and unarmed? Where was this vampire getting their ransom note ideas, human television? He could tear a vampire apart with his fangs, the weapons were just a convenience to keep the taste out of his mouth. And who would he bring? Hadn't they done their research at all? What remained of his pack was scattered around Europe, with one lycan, recently turned, even having returned to their old life undercover, though soon people would find their lack of aging suspicious. Lucian was ready for her call when that happened.

Lucian didn't have many weapons left in his flat, most of them having found their way out into the desert for training purposes, and anyway he didn't have Tannis' UV-bullets, and other than that there was no significant advantage to be had from being armed. His arm mounted blade was still there, but he didn't want to ruin it by transforming, and he suspected he might need to. He left his good coat for the same reason, and and stuffed a spare outfit in a bag. There would likely also not be a chance to undress. He disliked ruining clothes, but unless he were to go around naked it was hard to avoid in these kinds of situations.

The long drive in the morning sun led him to, surprise surprise, an abandoned looking factory. He wondered whether vampires frequented urban exploration fora to find these places, or perhaps they were just drawn to them, could sense the dank dark places and felt at home there. Which okay, fair, that was a bit speciesist, he could admit that. There were vampires like Sonja, good ones, though their culture and leaders often warped them. That wasn't necessarily the individual vampires' fault. Just as there were bad lycans, who used their power for, well, power, who enjoyed bloodshed too much. Still, being the source of the condition, Lucian had done his best to make sure that people were only turned with their consent, and that they kept their hunting to animals in the woods (and, possibly, the occasional death dealer, but their purpose, after all, was the extermination of the lycans, and so that was on their own heads, frankly), rather than attack any human settlements. 

He parked right out front, in full view. There was no point in trying to sneak; there were plenty of security cameras, which the vampire must have activated, he could see the tiny red lights. The vampire would be watching. Finding the place he was meant to go wasn’t difficult, mainly because as soon as he entered the building he could smell Peter. 

Lucian closed his eyes, grateful Peter was still alive. Walked down dusty stairs, some so much so that he could easily follow their tracks. Got to an appropriately heavy steel door, beyond which he could sense them. He knocked. It was only polite.

The door, seemingly without any interference from the other side, slid open, hinges creaking appropriately creepy. He wondered whether the vampire had spent long setting that up. Or perhaps Peter had given them some tips. He seemed the sort to critique his captors’ aesthetic dedication.

Beyond it was a large room, mostly empty, a pile of desks and old, chunky computer monitors and other parts heaped in one corner. They were deep below the middle of the massive building, far from windows, far from any risk of sun exposure. No convenient windows to be knocked out, no doors he could throw open. Well, the vampire wasn’t a complete idiot, then.

He walked in, turned to see the spots he hadn’t seen before, and there, tied to a chair, was Peter. A piece of duct tape covered his mouth, and he had a black eye, but he looked otherwise fine. Made muffled yelling sounds when he saw Lucian, squirming in his chair like he might suddenly have gotten strong enough to break free. Fighting his every instinct, Lucian didn’t rush over to free him, but tried to convey with his eyes, with his non existent telepathic powers that he was going to make sure Peter got out of here safe, that no one was going to hurt him any more.

“So I was right,” a voice said, as a door he hadn’t previously seen opened, and the one through which Lucian had come slid shut with another set of creaks, then a heavy thunk.

This vampire had really put some thought into their set design.

“You do care for this.. _human_. Pathetic.”

The vampire was, as suspected, no one he recognised. A pale woman, with artificially blonde hair, sharpened blood red fingernails and the same sense of fashion as most of the others; slinky, shiny black leather coat with just a few more straps than could possibly be useful, tight and shiny trousers, a top that left the space over her heart unprotected. She did, however, wear combat boots rather than heels, so that was a point in her favour.

“What do you want?” he snarled.

“You,” she said, smiling, “dead.”

“Get in fucking line.”

“Oh, yes, you were very much wanted before your supposed death. And most of the others, well, they are, for all their advances in mutt killing technology, surprisingly behind the times. Not a one thinks to check social media. But I’ve learned. Learned to pay attention, and there you were, kissing a human- this human, of all the ones to chose, the fake monster hunter? Is it some kind of dare? A joke?”

“Is there a point to your villainous monologue?”

She gave a short laugh.

“I think you’ll find you’re the big bad here, a _bad dog_.”

He crossed his arms, glanced at Peter, who was looking at her, frowning, his forehead a curlicue of confusion. 

“What, then, have I done this time? This isn’t about the 1400s still, is it? No, because it’s just you here. Just a single vampire against the lycan who overthrew your dead tyrant. This is personal?”

“Of course it’s personal!” she snapped.

He raised his eyebrows.

“You’ll have to remind me, then, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you?”

Her eyes narrowed.

“You haven’t, but you’ve seen Izabella.”

She said this with weight, as if the name should ring a bell. He looked at her, shrugged.

“You killed her!”

“Yes, well, there’s been a war. Killed an awful lot of you over the centuries. That is, unfortunately, how it goes.”

He could see the fury in her eyes, and just a hint of heartbreak, and felt suddenly almost bad for his flippancy. 

“Who was she?” he asked, voice more gentle.

“She was the love of my life! She was the love of my long fucking life, and you killed her like it didn’t even matter!”

“When?”

“2003.”

“I’m sorry,” he told her, as earnestly as he could.

“I am. I don’t remember her. All the death back then was regrettable.”

“Regrettable?” She demanded, incredulous, furious.

“I never intended to reignite the war in that way. I only ever wanted our species to be equals. Of course, that’s challenging when one enslaves the other.”

“Oh fuck _off_! I was turned in 1783! Izabella in 1608! We had nothing to do with that! It’s been six hundred fucking years, it’s time to get over it!”

Lucian took a deep breath. This was not the time to further irritate her, however infuriating she was. Peter’s life was on the line. 

“Look, please believe me when I say I understand, Viktor killed Sonja when-”

“Shut up! I don’t- I’m not here for you to defend yourself!”

“Then what do you want? Revenge, yes? Just let the human go, and I’ll do whatever you want, I’ll-”

“Oh no, the human’s not going anywhere. I’m going to kill you and your pet fake vampire slayer, and there's fucking nothing you can do about it,” she told him, pulling a gun from her coat.

And time seemed to slow, as her arm moved, Lucian starting to lunge forward, but moving slow, like in a dream, like he was wading through quicksand. As she pointed the gun at Peter, and the shot sounded, so loud in the confined room. Peter jerked as he was hit, then slumped, a dark stain spreading rapidly from where the bullet had pierced his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recently discovered that I can, in fact, write on my phone, which has greatly improved my fic productivity while at work. And I don't have either work or uni 2morrow, so I promise to do my best to not let you guys hang from this cliff for too too long.  
> 


	18. February 26th, 2013, Another Abandoned Factory, Roughly A Two Hour Drive From Lucian's Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gentle tenderness and bad liquid coping mechanisms

There wasn’t pain, exactly, when Peter was hit. There was noise, deafening noise, which faded into a high pitched humming. There was an impact, knocking him back, the chair he was tied to nearly falling over, rocking back and forth. He heard, as from another room, snarls and growls and screams, violent noises, further gunshots. Wet, horrible sounds, like flesh doing things flesh was never meant to. 

Peter knew he was dying. He was dying so far from home, killed by someone who didn’t even care about him, who only hurt him to hurt Lucian. If there was an afterlife and he remained there long enough for Lucian to eventually die, they would be having A Talk about that. He tried to blink, but his eyelids wouldn’t obey. That didn’t matter so much, though, because a few seconds later the world went black.

-

Peter woke up. That was unexpected. He opened his eyes to look around, and saw almost nothing. Had Heaven been hyped up far more than it deserved? Or had he gone to Hell? Had the inverted pentagram tattoo inexplicably been a bad idea? Was this Purgatory? Or was death simply being aware in the void, floating endlessly in the eternal darkness?

There was a movement next to him. God, he really hoped the afterlife wasn’t awareness of ones dead body decaying in the ground. He turned his head and fuck if that didn’t hurt, a sharp tearing pain at the base of his neck. Just that single movement had his heart beating faster and- wait, his heart was beating. His heart was beating, even though the last thing he had been aware of had been a bullet entering it, so that meant- Not dead. Not dead! Fucking excellent. Not dead was good. However much he felt like absolute shit, not dead was a good sign. 

He focused, eyes straining against the dark, against what felt like it had been a significant period of disuse, and the dark lump next to him resolved itself into a sleeping Lucian. At least, he was pretty sure it was Lucian, but his hair had fallen over his face, obscuring his features. Still, the smell was familiar. Like the too cheap soap he used, the smell of exhaust that clung to his clothes and hair due to his insistence on the motorbike, the sort of woodsy undertones and the faint hint of wet dog whenever his hair got damp. Huh. Peter couldn’t remember ever having thought much about what Lucian smelled like, but clearly his subconscious had been paying attention.

The lycan had pressed himself into the wall, taking up as little space as possible on the bed that was always slightly too narrow for two people. Peter tried to shuffle closer, but every movement was agony, his chest and explosion of pain. How the fuck was he alive? He groaned in pain, louder than he realised, evidently, because Lucian moved, seeming to wake up.

“Peter!”

His voice was loud, too loud, but a relief, a confirmation that he really wasn’t dead. Peter tried to reply, but only managed a garbled sort of pained moan, his throat feeling raw. Lucian propped himself up on his elbow, leaning over Peter, placing a soft kiss on his temple.

“How are you feeling?”

Peter wheezed, trying to force his lungs to take in enough air, despite the pain.

“Like… like I’ve been shot. Fucking- awful.”

Just forcing that out was a struggle. Lucian stroked a hand over his forehead, soothing, and moved a little closer, just so Peter could feel the solid warmth of him against his side.

“Yes. You were shot and you were really badly hurt, but you’re going to be okay. It’ll probably take a while before you feel completely yourself again, though. I’m so glad-”

His voice cracked, just a bit, and he was quiet for a moment.

“I was so afraid I’d lose you,” he whispered, his hand finding Peter’s, twining their fingers together, squeezing.

“But you didn’t,” Peter croaked, “you saved me. Big strong werewolf boyfriend to the rescue.”

“Always,” Lucian promised, kissing him, soft and and quick.

Peter closed his eyes, letting a small smile creep across his face. He really was exceptionally lucky to have Lucian, even though, sure, he wouldn’t actually have been kidnapped if it weren’t for him. But that wasn’t his fault.

“What- what happened back there? How did I- Did you kill her? How did you save me?”

A pause, silent, as Lucian’s hand twitched slightly in his.

“I’ll tell you everything, I promise, but right now you should rest. Focus on feeling better, okay?”

“Mm, that sounds good,” Peter agreed, “will you stay?”

“Of course,” Lucian promised, with a kiss to Peter’s cheek.

-

Peter awoke several times, each feeling a little less like death, and as promised, Lucian was almost always right there, next to him, either beside him on the bed, or sitting on the sofa which he had moved so it sat close enough for him to reach out and touch Peter. He brought him water and food and assurances that all would be well. Told him he had called Peter’s assistant and explained that Peter had had a health crisis, but was recovering, and to not worry. Finally, on what Lucian told him was the fifth day, Peter managed to get up.

Lucian helped him, changed his bandages and assured him that he was healing very well. Held him up while he struggled through a shower. Made him food, sitting with him on the sofa and making sure he managed to eat some of it. Stroked his hair away from where it hung down into his eyes and pressed kisses to his cheek. He took care of him, so good and tender care, and Peter was so very grateful for it.

“So,” Peter said, pushing the nearly empty bowl of soup away, metal spoon clinking again ceramic, the thick brothy smell suddenly a bit too much, “tell me.”

“Tell you?” Lucian asked, leaning into the corner of the sofa, and encouraging Peter to lay back against his chest.

Peter did so, carefully, and some of his ribs remained fairly harshly bruised, and made a pleased little sound in his throat when Lucian’s arms wrapped around him, holding him close. He could feel the scratchiness of Lucian’s beard against his temple, his breath as the chest behind him rose and fell, the steady rhythm of his heart, just a tad faster than it ought to be. Huh.

“Yes,” Peter insisted patiently, “about what happened on- what was it? Tuesday?”

Lucian took a deep breath, arms tightening the faintest bit around Peter. He raised his hands to grasp Lucian’s in his. The clear reluctance to tell him was slightly worrying, and Peter’s mind, until recently quite foggy, had struggled to justify it. Had come up with a range of scenarios to explain it, but at least one of those, luckily, had been disproven when Lucian threw open the windows to let the warm sun into the otherwise dark flat.

“Right,” Lucian said, “yes. Okay.”

Maybe it was no coincidence that Lucian had chosen a position where he would not have to look into Peter’s eyes.

“So, you were kidnapped.”

“Yes, thanks, I was there for that part.”

“And the vampire, she-”

“Ilona.”

“Sorry?”

“Her name was Ilona. I’m assuming the past tense is appropriate.”

“She shot you in the heart, Peter. Yes, it’s the appropriate tense.”

“Yeah. Figured, really. She talked a lot. As you said, villainous monologuing. She didn’t, I mean. She didn’t seem all bad.”

“I doubt she was. Feeling the unfairness of being drafted into a war she didn’t start, I can understand that. Having to be pawns of Viktor and the other vampire elders, having to take their word for who did what when, because there are no really official records. I knew the archivist, believe me, and he wasn’t particularly trustworthy. Not all bad, but willing to play both sides to save himself. If she had just wanted to fight me, that would have been fine. I would have hurt her, but just enough to scare her off. But she shot you. You’re innocent in all this, that wasn’t playing fair.”

“I do appreciate that. Understand your reasons. Hers too, really, like you say. She showed me a painting of her wife, from when people painted really tiny portraits. Had had her heart broken too badly to ever put together again. Don’t blame you for what you did, but not her either. Except, you know, agree with you about the shooting me bit. Which. Explanation time, wolf boy. How am I alive? I feel like absolute fucking shit, but I’m still here. I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t be.”

“No,” Lucian agreed, “you shouldn’t.”

He kissed the top of Peter’s head.

“So, all right. Keep in mind that the place she took you, that factory, it was hours from the city. Very remote, no wonder it closed down, really. Very far from any hospitals.”

“Lucian, you might think you’re cushioning whatever blow you’re about to deliver, but you’re just making me more worried.”

“I know,” he murmured into Peter’s ear, “and I’m sorry.”

“So she shot you, right. I’m sure you recall. She shot you in the heart. And that doesn’t kill you instantly, but still very very rapidly. Minutes. So I killed her. It. It wasn’t difficult, she was no great fighter. Maybe it was something of a suicide mission for her. I don’t know. It only took a minute or two, and there was. There was just one thing I could do, Peter. Just one way I could keep you alive.”

And Peter had a sinking feeling he knew what it was. Which explained some of the weird sensations he’d had since he woke up again. He reached a hand up to the bandage at his neck.

“You bit me.”

He felt Lucian sigh against him.

“I did.”

“I’m a werewolf now.”

“Well, lycan, bu-”

“Shut up, Lucian. Shut up. I- fuck.”

“I’m so sorry Peter, there wasn’t anything else I could do, not enough time for-”

Peter took a deep breath.

“Get out.”

“Peter, I- this is my flat.”

“I know. I know it is, and I would get out myself, but I don’t trust myself to walk right now, or not to do something very very stupid, so please, Lucian, get out. Go, I don’t know, go out in the desert, or go to my place, I’m sure you’ve got my keys. Whatever. I can’t- I need to be alone, okay.”

He was working very hard to keep his voice calm, to not shout at Lucian. To not just explode. Deep breaths. Deep breaths like he’d been taught. Calmly but firmly removing Lucian’s arms from around him, he struggled to his feet. Walked stumbling over to the bed and sat down on the edge.

“Is there any whiskey or something here? Anything strong.”

“There’s vodka, but I’m not sure you should be drinking.”

“Fuck off, Lucian. I’m immortal now, right? What am I gonna do, kill myself with alcohol poisoning? Just. Get out. Give me a day or two. I need…. I need to think, and I need you to not be here.”

“Sure. Okay.”

To his credit Lucian didn’t say anything more, though he looked at Peter with big, sad wolf puppy eyes, trying, clearly, to communicate how sorry he was without being told once more to shut up. Grabbed his coat and his phone and keys and left. After a few minutes Peter heard his bike start up and speed away.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fucking fuck.

Fuck.

Peter struggled over to the kitchen area, and after opening various cabinets he found a half empty bottle of cheap vodka and a glass. Even some ice in the freezer. He poured himself a glass, took a long drink, feeling the burn of it, grimacing only a little bit at the taste. Topped off his glass and struggled back to the sofa. Collapsed down.

He was a werewolf, a fucking horror film monster. Inhuman. Half animal. The sort of thing he had feared his whole life. Well, it wasn’t, he supposed, as bad as being a vampire. No blood drinking required. No death by sunlight. No visible changes, no suspiciously pale skin. Well, no more than was already the case, anyway. Still. God. Fuck.

Lucian had told him at length about how important it was to him not to turn anyone without their knowing consent, how much he understood people holding on to their humanity. Which, okay, he had never had a humanity to hold onto, so that was, Peter supposed, very understanding of him. But yet, at the first opportunity he bit Peter. Binding him to him forever. Making Peter the same as himself. Infecting him.

Peter finished his glass, and poured himself another. 

Maybe this was what Lucian had wanted all along. Perhaps he’d engineered the whole kidnapping thing just as an excuse to turn him? No. No, fuck, he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t. Would he? It wasn’t like Peter had known him all that long, was it? Did Lucian want to rebuild his pack after their decimation at the claws of the vampires? Was Peter part of this?

Another glass downed, another one poured. Some fresh ice for hydration.

How was he supposed to keep doing his job now? How was he supposed to be a vampire hunter if he himself was a fucking monster (as opposed to when he was just fucking one, his mind supplied), how was that going to work? What if people found out? He stared at his hands, as if his palms would suddenly sprout hair, his nails harden and lengthen into claws. Nothing. Nothing nothing nothing.

Peter would have to learn when the moon happened. No choice in that, Lucian had told him, not now. Perhaps in a century or two if he was still alive. Fuck. He couldn’t even ditch Lucian because he’d need his help. 

Did he want to? Did Peter want to leave Lucian? At this very moment, yes, maybe, no. He didn’t know. He did know he wanted quite badly to punch Lucian in his stupid pretty face. He wanted to rip him open with claws, to bite him, he wanted to hit him until he was no longer able to stand, and then? Then he wanted to collapse into his arms. To be eased down into soft blankets and have Lucian hold him anyway.

A third glass. He wasn’t feeling great, some of the vodka missing the bottle, soaking into the tracksuit bottoms he wore. When he got to his feet he was going to regret this. He had barely had any food in the last few days, was still very dehydrated. Fuck, Lucian had been right, hadn’t he. Fucking bastard.

His skin felt weird, felt like something was lurking just under the surface. Like he might grow fur at any moment, despite the next full moon, his first proper full moon, was three weeks away. Still, he felt itchy. The bite wound hurt. His chest hurt. His eye was- actually his eye was fine, the bruising and swelling having disappeared while he slept. His head was starting to hurt, though. Oh well. Nothing a little more alcohol couldn’t distract from.

After the fourth glass he struggled into the bathroom. Relieved himself. Slipped on a spot of wetness on the floor, falling to his knees. Vomited, not managing to aim for the toilet bowl, and getting it all over himself.

His throat burned, his head pounded, and tears were streaming from his eyes. He threw a towel onto the mostly clear liquid he’d thrown up, and clutched the toilet, ready for more. When none appeared, he stayed like that for a while anyway, then tried to rinse his mouth with some water. It tasted wrong. Stupid American water never tasted right. 

He undressed, throwing his stained clothes onto the disgusting wet towel on the floor, and then grabbed a clean one, patting of the worst of it from his skin. Stupid fucking werewolfism couldn’t even make him better at drinking.

It was a struggle, but he made it back to the bed. Laid down, carefully. Felt the room spinning, like a dark vortex. Sucking him into the consequences of his own bad choices. He pressed a hand against the wall, trying to steady himself, to find some anchor to what was up and down, but his body wasn’t cooperating. Another thing Lucian had taken from him. 

Fuck. He knew. He knew, he knew, he knew he would be dead if Lucian hadn’t bitten him, and he wouldn’t really have preferred that, but fuck if he wasn’t furious with him for it anyway. He rolled onto his side and vomited onto the floor. More clear horrid liquid. More reasons to be angry at how much his sense of smell had improved, how much worse it made him feel. He buried his face in the pillow, on which he could, infuriatingly, smell Lucian so clearly and vividly, like he was right beside him, and let the vortex pull him away from the eternal nightmare that was consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always hard to know how stuff reads when it's been rolling around your brain as vague scenes for weeks. Im gonna go avoid having thoughts like Peter does.


	19. March 2, 2013, Lucian's Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is Very Upset about Recent Unfortunate Events

Lucian stayed away the rest of the night, and the whole of the next day. He kept busy. Went out to the desert and cleaned up the mess the vampire had left behind. Salvaged the sim card from Peter's broken phone and threw out the pile of glass that remained. He used some of the stashed drinking water to wash away the chalk message on the wall. Took off the dirty sheets on the mattress which smelled far too vividly of their last activity before this whole mess happened.

He drove Peter's car back to the city, which meant he had to leave his bike out there, which was unfortunate, but perhaps could be used as leverage for a car ride out at the next full moon, during which Peter would have, hopefully, to listen to reason. It was the less nice of the two cars he had, used for driving around looking like a normal person, not all thetrical wig and neck tattoos, and was, as a result significantly messier. There were an astonishing amount of empty coffee cups rattling around on the floor, empty bags of crisps and a few packets of cigarettes. Still, Lucian imagined Peter would want it back. 

He stopped, on the way, to buy Peter a new phone. It was, he reasoned, the least he could do, as his choices a decade ago was technically the reason it had been destroyed. Lucian got him a newer model of the one that had been destroyed, and it was unfathomably expensive, at least compared to the cheap barely smart one he used himself. He stopped at a cafe with wifi and electrical outlets to set it up for Peter, including keeping his stupid and immature passcode. Sipped a rapidly cooling black coffee as he waited for the thing to download all the right nonsense. When it was done, he went into the note app, and typed up a message.

_Peter,  
I completely understand why you are angry at me. I know how unfair this must feel, that I had to do this to you to save you from a danger you wouldn't have been in if it wasn't for me. I am so very sorry for everything that happened, but I couldn't have let you die. I care too much for you. You have been so important to me these past months, and I really hope that you can eventually forgive me, though I understand you will need time. Please know I am here for you, will be here for you, whatever you need or want from me. Though you are rightfully angry, please don't hesitate to ask me about your new condition, even if you're not ready to talk about anything else. I know it must be confusing and upsetting and a lot to deal with.  
Yours,  
Lucian_

Hopefully Peter would find it, would read it.

When night fell, and almost 24 hours had passed since he left, he drove home. Went up to his own door and knocked. Unlocked it and let himself in when there was no reply.

It was. Well. The place was hardly trashed, but it was clear Peter had coped with things in his own way. The bottle of vodka was empty on the floor, with sticky glasses on the coffee table. The sour smell of old vomit permeated the small room. On the bed there was a lump of something under the blankets. Lucian knocked again, loudly, on the inside of the door. He really didn't want to give the impression that he had snuck in to watch Peter sleep, that was definitely vampire level creepy.

Peter moved, groaned. The heap of blankets shuddered, and eventually were cast aside to reveal a very hungover looking Peter.

"You're back," he said, flatly.

"Yes. It's been a day, Peter, and I thought you might like to go home. I've brought your car."

Peter let the blanket cover his face again, but stretched, sighed. Noises like bones cracking. Another groan.

"Yeah," Peter said, "yeah, that's probably a good idea."

He struggled out of bed, moving slow and careful. Still clearly in a considerable amount of pain. Lycan healing was strong, but a shot to the heart was a deadly injury, and recovery would take time. But he _would_ recover, and Lucian couldn't manage to be sorry for that.

"I brought you a coffee," Lucian announced, instead of asking how he felt.

The answer was easy to see. Peter squinted at him suspiciously, but accepted the styrofoam cup and couldn't quite help the pleased noise he made at the taste.

"Do you want me to drive you?"

"No," Peter said, and took another long drink, "but I think you should, anyway, I don't think I'm up to it."

It took Peter a little while to collect himself, but twenty minutes later they were driving through brightly lit city. Lucian took out the little box containing the phone he had bought, and handed it to Peter.

"Your old one was broken," he said, keeping his eyes on the road, "this is the closest to the one you had I could find. Same simcard, and all set up for you."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Peter take it out, examine it, and nod decisively. 

"You have to stop," he announced.

"Now? We're still ten minutes away from-"

"Not the car, you idiot. You've got to stop being so fucking nice."

"I'm... sorry?"

"I'm very mad at you, and you being so bloody _nice_ is just making me angrier."

He said all this in quite a steady tone, not shouting or raising his voice. Which was worse. Shouting would be preferable, would mean it was an explosive anger, that would fade, rather than a quiet and considered one.

"I understand," Lucian said, "I do, and I'll leave you alone if that's what you want."

"I do."

"Right. That's fair. But I'll see you in three weeks time yes?"

"Why?"

Lucian glanced at Peter, who was resolutely looking out of the passenger side window.

"For the full moon. It's not something you should have to go through alone."

"Fuck. Right, yeah. Yeah, I guess."

-

Two days later, at ten in the morning, Peter was sitting in his therapist's office, squinting against the bright sunlight streaming in through the big windows. He was, presently, attempting to explain the events of the previous week without having to actually reveal any of the details. His therapist was smiling patiently, but it was beginning to look stiff. 

"Okay," she said, eventually breaking the silence, "you missed our appointment last week. Do you want to start with that?"

"Uh. Okay, yeah. Yeah. So. I got hurt, a bit, right. Been out for the count since Monday till, uh, Sunday night I guess you'd say."

"Are you doing better now?"

"Eeeeh. Physically, yes. Emotionally worse. I did also not have my meds for six days, which is not ideal."

"No, Peter, it's really not. You should try to keep a small emergency stash in your car, or your pocket or something. They only help when you actually take them regularly."

"Oh, well, thanks, Doc, I'll think of that next time I get-"

He stopped himself, just in time.

"Next time you get what?"

He frowned.

"Ah, look. A thing... a thing happened. You know the guy I've been telling you about?"

"Your boyfriend? Yes, you've mentioned him. Frequently."

"Hah," Peter said, voice bitter, "yeah. Him. He... well. Something happened to me, right, something bad. And it happened to me because of him. Like I'm not saying that because I blame him, I mean, explicitly because of him, because of what we are or were or whatever to each other. And he helped me. He helped me deal with that, kept me safe, but he did so in a way that will affect me for the rest of my life, and he did so without my consent."

She frowned, clearly trying to figure out what he could be talking about.

"Did he-"

"It doesn't matter what he did right, just how it affected me. For the purpose of this, okay? I really don't want to get into the specifics."

He scratched at the bite wound hidden beneath an uncharacteristically properly buttoned shirt.

"Okay," she said, "we can talk about it like that, if you prefer. But you can tell me, you know, you're protected by patient doctor confidentiality. I wouldn't be able to tell anyone, or call the police or anything. I'm here to help you, Peter."

"Let's keep it abstract," he said.

"All right. So he did something without your knowledge or permission, is that right? What would have happened if he didn't?"

"I... well. I might might not be here. It's like, right, imagine this. Someone who wants to get revenge on your boyfriend has chained your arm to a bomb, right? Wants to blow you up to hurt them. And your boyfriend finds you, but the timer is running out, and there's an axe right there and no other way to get the chain off. So, wanting you safe, he chops your arm off, and gets you to safety before the place can blow. Like yes, he saved your life, but it wouldn't have been in danger if it wasn't for him, and also now you've only got one arm, and so you would be right to be angry with him, yeah?"

"Only you still have both arms."

"Fuck off. It's an analogy, okay? It's... like that, in terms of the trust and saving involved."

"Fine, we can work with that. So. How do you feel about this?"

"Fucking awful. Pissed off. Violated."

"And have you two broken up? Are you cutting off all contact with him?"

Peter's face contorted into a grimace.

"That's the thing, right, I can't. I need him."

"How so?"

"Uh," he said, pausing to think.

"Okay, so, in the same analogy, he is also the only available person who knows about like. Prosthetic arms, or the right type of physical therapy or whatever. Can't avoid him."

"Right," she said, sceptical, but going along with the scenario, "so. Tell me how you feel about that, then?"

Peter groaned, slumping further down into the comfortable chair.

"I don't know! I'm so fucking angry at him, but I know he did it to keep me safe. And I know what happened to his wife. She, uh, she was murdered. By his father in law. Because he hated the thought of them together so much, I guess. It was some kind of horrible cult situation in Europe. Not too clear on the details, but like. He's got his reasons for being overly protective, and it's not his fault, not really, what happened, but it is because of him and what he did in the past. And I do... I still care about him. I still want him, but at the same time I'm so fucking angry at him, right?"

"For taking your metaphorical arm."

"Yes. Please take my analogy seriously, doc. I know I've got a history of talking in outlandish metaphors or whatever they wrote when I was a kid, but the emotional series of events still stands, even if I'm not telling you the specifics."

"You're right, Peter, I apologise. So, as I understand it, you would like to eventually forgive him, is that right?"

"I guess? I want to punch him, but I also kind of want him to kiss me again. So if that's what that means."

"It might be," she said, infuriatingly vague as always.

"What do I do about this?"

He threw an arm over his eyes, blocking out the horrific light of day.

"I can't tell you what to do-"

"Then what the fuck do I pay you for?"

"Peter."

He sighed.

"I'm sorry. Uncalled for. Just frustrated."

"It's okay," she said, still calm, voice frustratingly kind and understanding, "I understand. As I said, I can't tell you what to do. But I can suggest some things. Do you have anyone you can talk to about this? Any friends you can tell the full, actual truth about this to? Who you trust enough to give you proper advice?"

Did he? No. The closest thing was Charley, but that kid was hardcore anti monster, and who knew what he and his horror movie based knowledge would do about that. Would he try to kill him? Or just pity him? Either way, not a good option.

"Yes," he lied.

"Good. I'd also suggest you try to write down your feelings. It sounds stupid, doesn't it, but it can genuinely help you express them properly. As a diary, or pretend you're writing a letter, to your boyfriend, to someone else, whatever helps you put your thoughts into perspective. And please, Peter, keep taking your meds."

"I will," he promised, genuine this time, though who knew how drugs interacted with what his body was now. 

Did the healing powers treat the chemical imbalance in his brain? Did it, whatever power it was, recognise that as a disease? Had it already fixed it, and did he still simply remain stuck in the same thought patterns? Or was that too vague for the lycantrophy to treat, too cerebral?

"Yeah, yeah, I'll try that."

"And Peter? Try not to talk to him until you're ready to, okay? And remember, if you have a problem, a genuine emergency, not just about kissing, you can contact me, okay?"

"Yeah."

-

Lucian felt like shit. He felt like absolute shit. After he had gotten home via a complicated set of bus rides, he had started to clean. Productive work, keeping his mind busy. Windows open to let in the air outside, which smelled marginally better, mop up half dried vomit, and then the sticky patches of spilled vodka. By the time the place was somewhat presentable the scent of Peter barely lingered. So. He felt like shit.

Lucian collapsed onto the bed, burying his face in pillow, which still did smell like Peter, though mostly in a not terribly pleasant sweaty alcohol soaked way. He missed him. He missed the stupid hum- well, the stupid lycan, now. Fuck.

The thing was that this was, in many ways, Lucian's ideal scenario. Peter was a lycan, like him. Immortal, or as close to it as anyone got, and Lucian would have to worry about him getting hurt far less. That had been the reason he had not brought Peter to take out any vampire nests after the last time. It wasn't that he didn't want to be weighed down by him, nor that he felt he wasn't competent, but simply that he was afraid he would get hurt, and afraid of how he himself would react that. And he wouldn't have to worry about accidentally turning him any more, wouldn't have to worry about Peter realising he didn't want anything to do with a monster, because now he was one too. Shit, that really did make him sound like one, didn't it? No wonder Peter was furious.

Lucian resisted the urge to punch the wall. It was his fault, his own stupid fault, his past that had caught up to him, that had punished him for trying to be happy, trying to have more than he deserved. He needed to fix it, but there was nothing left to fix. There was no way to stop being a lycan, at least none that didn't involve a lot of silver and blood and more death. But what else was he to have done? Should he have let Peter die? He couldn't have done that, he couldn't go through that, not again. He shouldn't have left him alone in the desert, perhaps, but staying for the moon had been Peter's idea, and he couldn't be afraid to simply leave him alone, couldn't be his guard wolf.

It was a shitty situation, and it was his fault, and there was nothing he could have done differently. So why did he feel so guilty? Yes, he liked that Peter was a lycan now, but that didn't mean he would have turned him without his agreeing to it in any other scenario. He respected Peter, and he had always understood that some humans would rather have their humanity, would not take the bite willingly. It was a valid choice.

A growl found its way out through his throat. His fangs grew, his eyes paled. He wanted to tear something apart, but the thing he wanted to hurt was his own past self, for not being more careful. 

Fuck.

He wished Peter hadn't finished the vodka.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very productive day at work in that I wrote a lot. Also my eyes hurt and I would like to stop being conscious but there's an hour and a half left of my shift and I'm dying🙃


	20. March 14th, 2013, Peter's Bathroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Identity Crisis, low budget speculative fiction tv style

After getting out of the shower Peter stood staring into the mirror. His wet hair hung in slick spikes, nearly down into his eyes, which still had smudges of dark liner in the corners. That shit was hard to get out. He tried to see if there was any sort of change, but his face looked the same as always. Lycanthropy felt like it ought to leave a visible mark, but aside from the now almost completely healed white imprints of Lucian’s teeth at the base of his neck there was nothing. He touched it. Nothing. No pain, but not anything else either, no hint of the power that now resided in him.

Peter frowned, concentrating, trying to see if he could do that face thing Lucian did, with the eyes and the teeth. How did he do that? Peter focused on the concept of fangs, the feeling of unnaturally flat blue eyes, but nothing happened. Perhaps that too was something that came with age? Like the ability to shift without the moon’s interference? Or perhaps he did not know the right muscles to flex, the right command for his brain to fire off. Perhaps he could as- No. No, he’d figure this out on his own.

Leaning in, he pulled at his lower eyelid, attempting to examine his eye closer. It looked like it always had, brown iris staring back at him, not a hint of anything out of this world. He unfocused and refocused his eyes, flexing the muscles around him in every direction he could think of. Still nothing. Pressed the pads of his fingers against his eyelids, groaning in frustration. Peter just wanted to manage this one cool trick, was that too much to ask, _Lucian_? Shouldn’t it be intuitive? Shiiit. He sighed, then opened his eyes, but what stared back at him was a black void.

Peter yelped, blinked, flinching away from the thing staring back at him from the mirror. A sharp pain told him he’d bitten his tongue, with teeth that now felt significantly more pointy and numerous. He backed up, until he was pressed against the bathroom wall. He blinked, several times, to see whether it would go away on its own. 

It did not.

“Shit,” he muttered, newly grown fangs messing up his pronunciation just a bit.

He approached, carefully, not trusting his image, those creepy, dead eyes staring back at him. They looked nothing like Lucian’s, no bright blue image of a shining moon or star upon a darker and large iris. The black had swallowed both iris and sclera, and only when he looked as far as he could to the side was there a hint of lighter colour in the corners. It looked… like the eyes of the vampires. Fuck. It looked like Jerry’s eyes when he went particularly monstrous. Shit. Fuck. Lucian was right, evidently, about the vampiric traces in his blood. Oh this was just- just fucking unfair. Lucian’s eyes were otherworldly and strange, but they didn’t look like this, not creepy and vampire like. Unless this was a normal variation? Perhaps it changed from werewolf to werewolf?

He bared his fangs at the mirror, trying to see if they too were vampiric, but no, luckily. Like Lucian’s they were shorter, wider, not like the unsettling, needle like points the vampire he had encountered had. He opened his mouth as wide as he could, but it didn’t split his face in that horrible way the vampires’ had, either. Thank god for that. He didn’t think he could handle looking that grotesque. Running the pad of his finger over the points, though, revealed his fangs to be incredibly sharp, opening a shallow cut in the flesh of his thumb. A drop of blood welled up, and he looked at it, worried he would feel some sort of compulsive need to drink it. Although, to be fair, vampires probably didn’t, as a rule, engage in auto-cannibalism. Too gross even for them. Still, he licked it, experimentally, but the taste of it was just what blood normally tasted like. It didn’t inspire any blood-thirst in him, just the desire for mouthwash.

It took all of five minutes for the cut on his thumb to close itself and disappear entirely. Okay. So that was pretty cool. He wondered what the extent of it was, exactly how quickly it worked, and what the process was like when silver was involved. The thought struck him that experimenting with this probably counted as self harm, and given his history of mental health, he probably shouldn’t try anything. Still, he grabbed a silver ear ring from the cabinet above the sink. One of Ginger’s old ones, as his own weren’t the kind with posts. Touching it didn’t hurt, which was good, but then, Lucian had said it was a slow reaction on the skin. He pressed the far too blunt end of it into the meat of his palm, and when it, after much self determination, pierced his skin, he cried out. 

It _**burned**_.

It hurt like fuck, and he tugged it out, tossing it into the sink and clutching his hand. The skin around the pinprick of blood had gone red and patchy, and it felt a little bit like it had been splashed with acid or boiling hot oil. Fuck. He ran cold water over it, which did nothing, and then stuck on a small plaster which probably fall off in about five minutes. His phone vibrated, nearly falling off the edge of the sink where it was precariously balanced, a notification lighting up to remind him he had to be down and in costume in 45 minutes. Right. Time to get his face back to normal.

Ten minutes of grimacing at the mirror with purpose later he was starting to panic. The black had not retreated, and the fangs were making his mouth feel too full, like he couldn’t quite close it properly. He was feeling shaky, a bit light-headed. He needed this shit to go away before he had to get on stage. Sure, he could believably say they were fake teeth and fancy contacts, but he couldn’t justify why he was wearing those for the stage. He was supposed to be the hunter, after all, not the monster. Hah, thanks Lucian, for making the show ironic. Lucian! Lucian would know. Surely he’d know. Peter grabbed his phone, scrolling down the contact list. There.

The phone rung a few times before Lucian picked up.

“Peter?”

There was so much feeling in his voice, confusion, delight, worry, and, worst of all, hope.

“Hey, wolf boy. Just to get this out there, still mad at you, but I have a wolfy emergency. I need your help.”

His voice was shaking more than he’d like, and he sat down on the edge of the bathtub, feeling like standing up might be taxing him more than he could handle right now.

“Okay,” Lucian replied after a moment, voice heavy with poorly disguised disappointment, face probably contorted, all sad puppy eyes, Peter thought, and tried not to care.

“What’s the problem?”

“My face.”

“Your face.”

“Yes.”

Peter wondered whether his werewolfism allowed him to actually hear a frown or whether he was just imagining it.

“Can you be… More specific?”

“Right, yeah,” Peter said, shoving his damp hair out of his face, “look, I was trying to do that thing that you do, right, with the fangs and the eyes and stuff.”

“Yes?”

“And I think I fucked up.”

“...How?”

Peter sighed.

“Well, I managed to. Fangs and stuff, all good. But my eyes are… They’re fucking weird and creepy, Lucian. They’re all… wrong.”

“Oh?”

Lucian, the absolute bastard, deliberately misunderstanding idiot, sounded hurt.

“I mean, they don’t look like yours. Do- Like, are there natural variations? Between individual lycans?”

Another pause.

“I haven’t seen it personally,” Lucian said cautiously, “but there might be. I haven’t met all of us.”

Us. Us included Peter now. Was it a deliberate choice of words?

“What do they look like?” he added, when Peter didn’t immediately reply.

“Uh, hold on, let me send you a picture,” Peter said, and flicked the phone screen away to access the camera, trying to find the angle that best showed off the blackness, not merely making it look like dark shadows.

He snapped a few, and even when he held the phone at arm’s length he was able to hear breathing and minute sounds of footsteps on the other end. Perhaps Lucian was one of those people who could only talk on the phone while pacing. Right. Eyes. He spent more time than perhaps was necessary choosing a photo that was flattering, in addition to showing the eyes clearly. Mouth slightly open to show of just a hint of fangs. The lighting was terrible, of course, far too yellow, but it did the job. He sent it, and then a few seconds later heard a high pitched tone, quiet tapping, and then a soft intake of breath.

It was… gratifying. Unless it meant something like that he had some deadly werewolf specific disease, there was that possibility, he supposed.

“Oh,” Lucian said, his voice so very soft.

So probably not the disease thing.

“Yeah, see? That’s weird, right?”

“Peter, I’ve never seen this before. Not on any lycans.”

But on vampires, was the implied rest of the sentence. Fuck.

“So it’s, what, the leftover vampire infection? Because the one that bit me, his eyes got like this, and his other victims, too, after long enough. When they were particularly… monstrous.”

He heard an intake of breath, like Lucian was about to speak, then silence. Peter stared at his nails, willing them to stay short and blunt, black from the nail polish that was flaking off, rather than any inherent claw-ness.

“It might be,” Lucian said at last, carefully, diplomatically.

“It’s certainly unlike the eyes of the vampires of the Corvinus strain,” he added, “do they change your vision at all?”

“Uh,” Peter said, “don’t think so. Hold on.”

He turned of the light, and even when he covered the bright screen of his phone, in what should have been complete darkness, other than the faint stripe of light from under the door, he could see perfectly, if without colour.

“Oh shit! Lucian, I can see in the dark!”

There was a soft chuckle from the other end, and Peter regretted how happy he had sounded. He was still supposed to be cold and stand-offish to Lucian, dammit. 

“I can do that too,” Lucian said, “so that’s the proper function, at least, even if the look is… Different. Perhaps my, uh, converting you activated some latent effects of the vampire bite?”

“Bites, plural. Got mobbed by the fuckers.”

“Huh. I never noticed any when we… Uh..”

“No,” Peter said, quickly, before Lucian could remind him of their many very good naked activities, because he couldn’t deal with that, not right now, “they all healed, immediately, when the vampire burned in the sun, when he was staked. It’s why I figured there were no other lingering changes. Because I felt like it had been burned out of me, like the bites. That’s what it feels like, by the way. When the vampire burns, their converts do too. At least that kind.”

“Interesting,” was all Lucian said, which Peter thought was maybe just a little bit heartless, but perhaps he just didn’t want to go digging in clearly painful memories.

Fucking too nice that piece of shit. Peter wanted to kiss him, but like, angrily, and with fangs. Stupid brain. Stupid feeling chemicals. Stupid werewolf. Both of them, now. Fuck.

“But was there a problem? Or is the black eyes the problem? Not what you were hoping for?”

Dick.

“Yes, the eyes are the problem. I don’t want weird creepy vampire eyes!”

“Well, that one you do have to admit isn’t my fault,” Lucian said reasonably, like a fucking asshole.

“No,” Peter admitted through gritted teeth, “I guess not. But it’s not the only thing, right? I can’t make them fucking go away again. I don’t really know how I made them like this, so. What I called to ask you about. How do I make my face human again? Or, you know, human looking. Whatever.”

“Uh,” said Lucian.

Shit.

“You just… do? I mean, clearly, born like this, I’ve never not been able to do it, but it’s like any other thing, like closing your eyes, just another sort of… muscle? Maybe? I’ve made it a point not to dissect my fallen comrades, so I don’t know exactly how it works, to be perfectly honest with you. Did have a scientist guy working on some, uh, stuff, he might have. He’s dead, though. Have you tried just… Focusing on looking human?”

Peter ran a hand through his hair, nails scraping his scalp hard.

“Yes I’ve fucking tried that. Christ. It’s, I mean, I don’t know how I made them appear in the first place either. I have a show in like twenty minutes, Lucian, I can’t go on stage looking like this!”

“...It is a show about creepy looking hot vampires,” Lucian pointed out, and Peter could hear the barely suppressed smile in his voice.

“Yes, well I’m not supposed to be one of them, am I?” Peter retorted, with just a hint of a snarl in his voice.

Huh. That was new. Filed away for research at a later time.

“I just need to make my face normal, Lucian, please!”

“Okay, I’m sorry. Let me think.”

He was quiet for a moment, and Peter looked at his hand, wondering if the tiny wound had healed itself. Pressed a finger against it. Ouch. No, then. He made a mental note to replace any silver he had with steel or something less painful. 

“Right. Put me on speaker, okay?”

“...Sure.”

He did so, and when Lucian next spoke his voice was tinny and hollow in the dark room.

“Close your eyes for me.”

“Closed.”

“Good. Now, breathe.”

“Oh, thanks, not been doing that at all.”

“Peter. Look, you need to relax. The… face thing, as you say, it’s usually an expression of a strong emotion, right? Like anger, or-”

“Or being turned on while there’s a full moon?”

Soft puff of breath, magnified by phone speakers.

“Like that, sure. My point is, I need you to try to calm down, to breathe slowly, lower your heart rate. Like that human thing, meditation? Or calming breathing exercises, okay? Can you do that for me?”

“Yeah,” Peter said.

Calming breathing exercises, he was familiar with that. And Ginger had been briefly into meditation and shit, had made him try too, though he had trouble turning off his mind. Still, he sat down on the floor, leaning his back against the wall. Focused on how the cool tile felt against his skin. Listened to Lucian’s breathing over the phone, calm, steady. Tried to let go of the tension in his shoulders.

It took nearly five minutes, but he felt his fangs receding, flattening into regular human teeth, only his canines feeling just a tad sharper than they normally did, though he couldn’t be entirely sure that wasn’t just in his mind. He got up, turned on the light, and kept his eyes closed for a moment, both against the brightness and the reality. Inhale, hold, exhale, repeat. Okay. Open.

“It worked! Oh, thank fuck, it worked, they’re back to normal!”

“Good,” Lucian said, encouraging, kind, patient, very bastardous.

“...Thanks,” he said, feeling grateful, and spiteful, and just in general confused about what his feelings were supposed to be.

“Always,” Lucian said, “Of course. As I said, just ask, if there’s, well, anything. Even if you’ll never want anything to do with me again, I’ll understand, but I know I did this to you, just- Just feel free to ask, okay?”

No. Nope. None of that, no heartfelt proclamations of acceptance of responsibility or guilt or anything. Fuck that.

“Uh, sure,” he said, keeping his voice as neutral as possible, “Okay, my show’s in ten minutes, I gotta go. See you in two weeks.”

He hung up before Lucian had a chance to reply. Fuck, okay. Costume. His phone vibrated, but he turned it upside down. Not now. Showtime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to rewatch Fright Night to confirm what the vamp eyes look like, but I got lazy (the external harddrive with all my pirate booty is in a different room than my laptop), but from the screenshots google showed me their eyes do seem to go mostly black, but with just a hint of white around the edges. And if I miss saw, then, well. This is fanfic _and_ fantasy and I can do what I want.


	21. March 27th, 2013, Vegas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That Time Of The Month

**Peter:** Hey, how muçh do you remember aboutt ur time as a vamp??

 **Amy:** who is this

 **Peter:** Peter Vincent, famous vampire slayer

 **Amy:** oh

 **Amy:** how did you get my #?

 **Peter:** Charley?

 **Peter:** Anyway. Vampire time. Any memories? You were 1 longer than me, like a day at least right?

 **Amy:** trying to forget

 **Peter:** oh hard same, but have u noticed any lingering effects? Mild garlic allergy? Get sunburnt easier? Sudden aversion to churches or liking your steak barely done at all? Really good dark vision? Changes in eye colour? Befriended any bats? Sharp teeth?

 **Amy:** no.

 **Peter:** oh good. Me either. Just checking.

-

Lucian didn't see Peter at all in the weeks leading up to the full moon. He did hear from him, though. The phone call about his eye issues, a text to ask why it didn't heal right away when he stabbed himself with silver (becoming a lycan had clearly not cured him of being an absolute idiot with a severely lacking sense of self preservation), and demands to know which books or films would most accurately explain the experience of the actual change (none of them, lycans did not write werewolf media, and were rarely even consulted). So he wasn't completely cut out. But he still found himself looking at the selfie Peter had sent him. He didn't set it to his phone background, because he was an eight centuries old man, not some desperately in love teenager. That didn't keep him from sometimes laying on his bed staring wistfully at it, though.

It was a good picture of him, showing off beautiful features, and the eyes, they were, well. They gave him a greater understanding of Peter's feelings about Lucian's own eyes. Strange and unnatural and beautiful. It helped, he supposed, that they were not like the eyes of the vampires with whom Lucian was most familiar. Not the normal iris turned a too pale electric blue. And it did things to him, having this clear photographic proof of Peter being like him, now. Almost like him. And really truly genuinely a sort of hybrid. Which was what he had worked towards, all these centuries. Not, admittedly, a hybrid comprised of the strain of vampire he had intended, but that was just a detail. Lucian had, of course, also had the goal of making himself a hybrid, but that proved challenging now. He was at peace with simply knowing one. Having had a part in his creation.

There was, in those three weeks, a good deal of wallowing in guilt, and excitement about what other side effects of vampirism might linger in Peter's altered DNA, which led, of course, to further guilt. Despite his experiences in life, he was somehow never ready for how painful it was to get what he wanted.

On the day of the full moon, which felt like it had come a year after the last one, rather than the usual month or so, he texted Peter.

 **Lucian:** Can I get a ride with you out to the desert? Had to leave my bike there to get your car.

 **Peter:** Is this an excuse 2 make me talk 2 u for an hour?

 **Lucian:** Yes. But it's still true.

 **Peter:** Asshole. Ill pick u up l8r >:/

-

Peter had recovered fully by the time of his first full moon. He was still tired, though, by the time it came around. Due to the week he had disappeared there had been a lot of extra shows, to make up for the ones cancelled at short notice. He had so much physical energy now, but the mental fatigue lingered. He hadn't had any panic attacks, though, so that was good. Promising, even. And he had even started using the gym facilities for more than his bi-weekly yoga sessions. He did so when it was empty, though, to disguise the significant discrepancy between how many muscles he had and the amount of kilos he could lift now. It was... it was pretty damn cool, actually. He felt like that part in superhero films, before the big bad appeared, when the hero was just working out their cool new powers. But this was real life, not fiction. There was no looming second act waiting to ambush him. And he was hardly a hero.

He put on a soft hoodie and some loose jeans, thought for a moment, and stuffed some more clothes into a bag. Just in case. There could always be timing issues, and he was not about to drive back home naked. Shit, this was a thing he was going to have to regularly consider now, huh? And he would have to carry sunglasses with him always, in case the eye thing happened and he couldn't control it enough. Luckily, with the exception of his shows, that was pretty in character for him. And adjust his schedule so there were no shows on the night of the full moon. Or maybe he could change them to matinees or something. Shit, he should bill Lucian for the time he spent having to deal with this stuff.

The ride to Lucian's flat wasn't long, usually, but with the afternoon traffic it took him nearly half an hour, during which he listened to various werewolf themed playlists he found on spotify. He had thought they might set the mood appropriately, but it felt weird. The songs were either all romantic and hippie-like folk, or angry punky metal type stuff. He wondered if any lycans, perhaps recently turned ones, had made some better ones.

When he parked on the street outside he turned the music off before texting Lucian. It felt like a weird new lycan thing to do, finding the right playlist. Peter was angry with Lucian, he reminded himself, and not in the mood to be made gently fun of.

"Thanks for driving me," Lucian said, as he got into the car, settling in the seat next to Peter.

He was tempted to tell him to sit in the back seat, but he was already here, and it might be a bit petty even for him, even now.

"Some problem," Peter said flatly, and Lucian, the absolute bastard, smiled at him.

Peter glared right back as he started the car back up, and Lucian just kept that stupid fond look on his face. Like he saw right through him, could read his mind to know how much Peter had missed him, despite his righteous anger.

"So," Lucian said, after a few minutes of tense silence, broken only by Peter insulting other drivers under his breath.

"Are you worried? About tonight?"

"Well I'm not exactly looking forward to it," Peter muttered.

"It's going to be fine, Peter, I promise. I'll be there the whole time."

Peter grimaced.

"That doesn't exactly feel like a bonus right now."

It did, though, of course it did. Lucian had nearly a thousand years of experience. That was... a lot of full moons. Nearly ten thousand? Peter's math was not great, but something like that. Holy fuck that was a lot. Holy fuck this man was old.

"I'm sor-"

"If you apologise earnestly one more time I'm stopping the car and you can walk the rest of the way."

"S- Fine. But even though I can't remember my first full moon, I've been there for a lot of other people's first one. Believe me, this would be far more upsetting on your own."

"Don't doubt that. Bet I'm gonna be upset anyway."

"Yes. Probably."

Lucian stared out the window for a while, remaining quiet, so much so that Peter felt the need to break the silence. An hour was a long time for a tense quiet.

"So, do you know any, uh, other new lycans?"

"New?"

"Yeah, you know, who are from this century. Or the last one, I guess. Just. No offense, but someone less ancient than you."

"Only a little bit taken," Lucian said, with a small smile, "but you do remember me saying most of my pack were killed, yes?"

"Well yeah. Most, not all, right? Or did you not look back when you went on the run?"

A pause, and Peter sensed that might be a sore spot. Good. Served him right.

"I do know one who would fit that criteria, yes. Turned just around the millenium. I could give you her email?"

"That sounds recent enough, yeah. I just think it might be useful for me to have someone to talk to about this who remembers what it's like to be human, y'know?"

"I can see how that might be good," Lucian agreed after a short pause, and what was that, hurt?

Was he upset Peter didn't want to get all his info from him? Perhaps he thought it evidence that he wanted to stay as far away from Lucian as lycanly possible? Did he? Not as much as he had a few weeks ago. No, he’d like, Peter thought, to be more actively angry at Lucian, in closer quarters. 

“I tried the thing with the eyes and teeth again, by the way. Think I figured out how to make it come and go on command. Well, sort of, anyway. Still quite creepy.”

“I’d like to see it, if you’ll let me. In real life, I mean, not just the photo. But perhaps not while you’re driving. But I’m glad you’re getting the hang of it. I assume you’ve not tried the full transformation?”

Peter frowned.

“First full moon tonight, remember?”

“Well, yes, but you don’t need the moon to do so. It forces you, but you can do it whenever you want. Takes a bit of effort, but it’s hardly impossible.”

The car veered, enough for the one behind them to lean aggressively on their horn.

“You didn’t think to mention that earlier?” Peter choked out.

“I… thought you knew? First time you saw me, I was wolf shaped.”

Lucian sounded genuinely puzzled that Peter had not put this together himself.

“You kept saying how you needed experience and shit to not transform during the full moon, why on earth would I assume that wasn’t true for the opposite?”

“Oh,” Lucian said, “didn’t think of that. It’s been over a decade since I last had to explain this to anyone.”

“Excuses.”

As they turned onto the small side road to lead to their usual hideaway, Peter looked up at the sky, hurtling far too fast towards sunset.

“Do I have to worry about the moon in daytime too?” he asked.

“The- what?”

“Well, you know how sometimes you can see the moon even though it’s daytime, right? If the moon is visible in the sky, will I automatically go all big and fluffy and scary?”

“Err,” Lucian said, “I don’t think so? I’ve not seen that happen before.”

“Why not?”

“I… don’t know?”

“But it’s the same light, right? It’s just sunlight reflecting off of the moon at the right angle, it’s just less bright because the sun is hitting the relevant bit of Earth also?”

Lucian frowned.

“And, follow up, if I, theoretically, should become an astronaut, and go to the moon, would I be all wolfy the whole time, as the moon is, I guess, always full when you’re on it?”

“I don’t-”

“And why the full moon, honestly? It’s not like the moon changes, is it? Only the amount of light we see reflected off it.”

“Peter, I’m not- I don’t know-”

“I realise you maybe didn’t learn loads about astronomy in school back in the 1200s, but still, has no one even tried to figure that out?”

“Hey,” Lucian objected, “that’s ageist. Also schools weren’t really an option for slaves in vampire castles.”

“Am I wrong?”

“...No.”

“Anyway. It’s stupid, is what I’m saying. Makes no sense.”

“Well, reality doesn’t always conform to how we think it ought to behave. Science is only a tool humans use to try to impose order on a chaotic universe.”

“I- What? What are you on about? I know you’re from the dark ages, but jesus christ, Lucian.”

Lucian smiled, just a little too satisfied.

“Oh, fuck off,” Peter told him, but couldn’t help smiling either.

He had been right in staying away, it was really quite challenging to stay mad at that face. It was a very good face, that inspired in Peter thoughts about kissing and nope, that was not happening, not now. Road. Focus on the road.

By the time they had gotten out of the car the sky had started to go a warm pinky sort of orange, and to the East there was just a hint of purple along the horizon. God, this was happening soon, wasn’t it? Peter had tried very hard not to think of it, not as an actual real thing, but now he felt it. 

“You all right?” Lucian asked, seeing Peter staring wide eyed at the landscape spreading out before them.

“No I’m fucking not.”

Peter took a deep breath. Craned his neck to see if he could spot the moon yet, but there was no sign of that big rock that suddenly got to control his life. Another deep breath, then several very shallow ones in quick succession. His hands were shaking, just a little. It was no big deal, was it? Lucian had gone through this literally tens of thousands of times, right? And he was fine. What was going to go wrong? Other than the complete obliteration, however impermanent, of everything Peter knew his body to be? What if he got stuck like that? What if there were vampires lurking here again? Waiting around, ready top sneak in and fill him with silver bullets? What if-

Warm hands on his shoulders.

“Peter, you’re panicking. It’s all right, you’re going to be fine. I promise.”

“Course I’m panicking,” Peter told Lucian, but his voice was high and shaky, and carried none of the anger or spite he had intended.

“Here,” Lucian said, “let’s go inside, get you ready. Don’t want to transform outside. Too visible.”

Peter let Lucian lead him inside.

-

Lucian helped Peter, who was by now visibly shaking, undress. Peter was clearly not quite comfortable with this, but he was also too unsteady to do it on his own, and nodded when Lucian offered his assistance. His heart was beating so very fast, and his eyes were big and frightened. He helped him sit down, back against the wall, a blanket thrown over his lap against the shivering and discomfort. Given how things were between them right now, the need for nudity was inconvenient.

“I feel weird,” Peter informed him through gritted teeth that seemed just a little sharper than before.

“Yes. It’s going to be incredibly unsettling. It would be best, I think, if you kept your eyes closed throughout. It’s going to feel strange enough without having to watch, I think. But I’m here, all right. Give me your hands.”

A little reluctantly Peter let Lucian take his hands. This was both a source of comfort, but also often where the changes started, from the extremities and inward. Lucian rubbed Peter’s knuckles with his thumbs, trying for a soothing motion. He could feel the moon himself, feel the imminent need to transform.

“I’m, Lucian, I’m… worried.”

“It’s fine, Peter. You’re going to do great, you just have to let it happen. Don’t try to fight it, just try to relax.”

He could feel his pulse, see how much he was shaking, how incredibly tense he was. Relaxation was unlikely to happen, but perhaps he could at least help the poor man having a full panic attack on top of everything else.

“Tell me… Uh, tell me what you miss about home. About England.”

“What?” Peter said, looking up at him with a frown, and _oh_.

His eyes really were fully black, shining back at him. They were beautiful. Lucian could see why Peter found them unsettling, but they suited him, somehow. Not quite voids, but like dark pools, reflecting the moonlight.

“You heard me.”

“Why?” Peter demanded.

“You’re panicking,” Lucian pointed out, “I’m trying to distract you.”

Peter grimaced in confusion, which was good. Confusion was better than panic. 

“And close your eyes,” Lucian added, as his eyes flicked down to their hands, and he saw the way Peter’s knuckles were starting to bulge, his fingers lengthening, nails solidifying into claws.

Peter’s eyes followed his, and he started breathing far too fast, shaking.

“England. Stuff you miss. Now.”

“Uh… Fuck,” Peter said through an increasing amount of fangs.

“Proper tea. Real seasons. Fewer Americans.”

“Good,” Lucian told him, continuing to soothingly stroke the clawed hands in his, talking slightly louder, attempting to distract from the noise bones made when they shifted and elongated.

“The fucking rain, even- argh-”

That was about as far as he got before he lost the ability to speak. So Lucian kept at it, suggesting other things this giant weird country might lack. Decent beer, chips that tasted just right, the slightly different brand of embarrassing brits were, which elicited a growl from Peter. Good. Harder to panic if you were busy being offended.

It took a few minutes. It usually did, the first time. Less streamlined, the process entirely new to the body. 

“Oh, you look very impressive,” Lucian said, reaching to pet Peter’s fur, then stopping himself.

His was lighter than Lucian’s, slightly lighter than his hair normally was. At the base of his neck, pale against dark grey leathery skin, the scars from Lucian’s bite was stark and pale. Peter made a slightly smaller wolf than himself, slimmer and less obviously riddled with muscle.

“How do you feel?” Lucian asked.

Peter growled.

“Well, you got through it, didn’t you? Wasn’t so bad?”

Another growl, and the baring of fangs.

“Oh, there’s no need for that kind of language,” Lucian told him, “all right, let’s get you to your feet. Then I’ll, ah, get changed too.”

Peter snarled.

“Oh, please, it _is_ funny, I’ve been promised so.”

“You know,” he added, grinning up at Peter, “I think I quite like you unable to speak. I see the appeal now.”

In the contorted grimace he could just about make out some of Peter’s features.

“All right,” he said, “let’s get to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~I was gonna add a drawing of the photo Peter sent Lucian but it turned out just incomprehensibly creepy. Idk what it is. Will try again. Maybe get a better reference photo.~~  
>  A better version added now!


	22. March 28th, 2013, The Desert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has some stuff put into perspective for him, and Lucian has thoughts about Peter

Peter had a sneaking suspicion, when he awoke the next day, that he was about to have a sleep paralysis nightmare sort of situation, because there was a heavy weight on his chest. Well, great. That was just what he needed now, after last night. He didn’t want to see some monster with too many eyes, with a mouth that stretched all the way around sitting on top of him, touching him. He took a deep breath, and opened his eyes.

Oh. There was a werewolf on top of him. Okay. Sort of a monster, but probably not out to sleep terrorise him. Lucian’s head was on his chest, his arm thrown across Peter’s stomach. They were both currently human. They were also both currently naked, though Lucian must have woken at some point during the night to pull the blanket over them. This was not quite what Peter had expected, although to be fair it was a single size mattress, and cuddling was in fact required for them both to be able to fit. Okay. Huh.

Peter didn’t move for a few minutes, considering his options. On the one hand, having Lucian laying on top of him felt, well, nice. And Lucian wasn’t, currently awake, and so perhaps Peter could postpone angrily moving him until that happened. Something about it just felt right. Somewhere, deep in Peter’s brain, a wolf lay, curled around his amygdala, and it was insisting that this was the way things were meant to be. Which was worrying. Was there some sort of weird automatic loyalty thing that came with the bite? Was he infected with devotion to Lucian? Well, probably not.

The night before had been strange. When he thought back to it felt slightly dreamlike, as if he hadn’t been fully present for it. There weren’t chunks missing, it wasn’t like a blackout, but more like there had been something else in there with him. Which wasn’t exactly how Lucian had explained it, but perhaps it was close. When he had told Peter about he had said that you stayed perhaps about 75% yourself, but the rest was, well, not another person or creature, but instinct.

They had killed and eaten some sort of goat thing last night. So, so much for three years of pescetarianism. Then again, going out there and tearing its throat out by yourself was probably less bad than the meat industry, ethically speaking, though doubtlessly unpleasant for the goatish creature in question. The memory of it made Peter feel a bit sick, though it had felt like the most natural thing at the time. Just like the howling at the moon (Which Lucian had looked a little pained when Peter asked about the day before, as if it was some embarrassing thing only completely new lycans did or something. That didn’t matter. Peter did a show in Vegas, he was not afraid of kitsch.) and using his arms too for running, which, weirdly, felt like it made a lot of sense.

Peter had not felt like a monster when he transformed. He had not wanted to eat people. The instinct to hunt had been there, yes, and it felt good, felt right, but he had no desire to kill people. Which, honestly, that wasn’t anything he’d had any reason to expect based on what Lucian had told him, but he had watched a significant amount of werewolf centric horror films this winter, and it was hard to completely disregard the wealth of stories.

Lucian stirred, making a muffled noise, and squirmed closer to Peter, hand curling around his side. Peter really really wanted him to stay asleep, so he could continue to enjoy this, but- and, yes, Lucian’s eyes shot open, and, upon realising where he was, he started to move away.

“Don’t,” Peter told him, voice hoarse with sleep, and put a hand on Lucian’s shoulder.

Lucian froze for a moment, then, slowly, lowered his head back down uncertainly. Peter took a deep breath.

“There, uh, there’s some stuff I need to tell you,” Peter announced, “and I think it’s gonna be a lot easier if I don’t have to look you in the eye.”

“Also,” he added, “you’re warm.”

“Okay,” Lucian agreed softly, and Peter could feel the word against his skin.

“I… I really miss you, Lucian.”

He tensed against Peter, as if waiting for the inevitable “but”. It never arrived. Peter looked up, idly counting the beams in the ceiling.

“I miss you too,” Lucian murmured at last.

“I’m not done being angry with you. Haven’t forgiven you for this yet, and I want you to understand that, but… But I’ve really missed you. Missed this.”

“I understand.”

“I don’t know what to do about it.”

Lucian didn’t respond to this, but did seem to relax, running his fingers along ribs, shifting a little, no longer so tense, less afraid, perhaps, that Peter would tell him to fuck off.

“I can’t tell you what to do about it,” Lucian began, but got no further.

“Why the fuck does everyone keep telling me that?” Peter demanded, “is it really too much to ask? From anyone, really, just. I’m really fucking confused and I just want to know what the fuck I’m supposed to do about the situation!”

“Sorry?” Lucian said, tilting his head so he could look up at Peter, “what do you want to do about it, then? In an ideal world with no consequences?”

Stupid pretty eyes, nearly black in the faint light filtering through cracks. Peter frowned.

“I want to kiss you. I want everything to be like it was.”

“Good choice,” Lucian said, and with every movement Peter could feel the scratch of his beard against his skin.

“What’s stopping you?”

Good question. Anger? Yes. Hurt? Also yes.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted.

He kept his gaze on the ceiling, though he could feel Lucian watching him from what must be a horrifically unflattering angle.

“I want to forgive you, right? But what you did, it’s… It’s a big fucking deal, right? I know you saved me, and I can’t think what else you could have done, and it wasn’t your fault, and she wouldn’t have been able to track you if it wasn’t for people taking photos of me-”

Lucian shrugged against him as best he could, given their pose.

“I knew who I was getting involved with, Peter, nothing is on you.”

“Yeah. But this, I mean. This is the rest of my life now. I have to deal with this forever. And forever is going to be, unless I do something too stupid, just incomprehensibly long.”

“Some,” Lucian said, “would argue that borderline immortality is a good thing.”

“But I didn’t choose it!”

“Well, I didn’t either.”

“You chose it for me.”

Peter closed his, tightly, till bright green and purple lights danced behind his eyelids.

“There’s always the gun with the silver bullets if you find being like me too terrible a curse,” Lucian muttered.

“That what you want, then?”

“Fuck off, Peter, you know it’s not.”

“Would you let me?”

“Would you try?”

Neither of them spoke for a while, as they did what Peter could only describe as angry cuddling. Lucian was being like this on purpose, he was being absolutely infuriating, and Peter kept finding himself wanting to kiss that stupid annoying face.

“So,” Lucian began, his voice more conciliatory now, “you accept that there wasn’t really anything else I could have done, no obvious better choice I could have made, right?”

“I s’pose, yeah.”

“And that me biting you, while inconvenient, hasn’t actually turned you into a murderous monster?”

“That goat might argue.”

“And the thing you’re angry about is just that it had to happen at all, right?”

“Yeah.”

Lucian sighed, his breath warm against Peter’s skin.

“I feel,” Peter said, “like I need time to be angry about this, but I also feel like I want to be with you all the time, but I also don’t want to take my anger out on you.”

“You’re aware every conversation we’ve had the last three weeks have been at least 60% you insulting me and calling me names, yes?” Lucian asked, a little incredulously.

“That’s me being considerate,” Peter said, shrugging as much as he could under the weight of the other man and grinning smugly.

“I shudder to think what you really letting me know would be like,” Lucian said, arched eyebrows raised.

“Would you kiss me?” Peter said, and his voice conveyed a lot more of the helplessness he felt than he had intended it to.

“Of course,” Lucian breathed, barely a whisper.

Shifting, he pressed soft, quick kisses up Peter’s sternum, along his throat, and then, slow and gentle, to his lips. He rested his forehead against Peter’s, looking down into his eyes. It wasn’t fair what those eyes did to Peter’s heart.

-

Lucian sat outside, letting the midday sun warm him, waiting for Peter to emerge. This morning felt good, felt better. Peter admitting he missed him, that he wanted to forgive him, letting Lucian kiss him. And oh, last night. It had been so long since Lucian had had another lycan around, and wolves really were not meant to be alone, couldn’t be, because it felt so very good to have Peter there with him. To watch him struggle with his coordination, not used to the way his legs bent, to see him find joy in running, in being out and in the desert and completely unrestrained. To hunt with him, to fall asleep curled close together. He felt a little guilty about that, but Peter hadn’t objected at the time. It was the natural thing for wolves to do. Nights in the wilderness got cold, so you cuddled up close for warmth, muzzles buried in each other’s fur.

There was the sound of movement from inside, and Peter came out, a bottle of water in his hand, and sat down next to Lucian. Just a few inches apart, close enough to accidentally touch.

“You know what this place really needs?”

“I’m sure you have a list.”

“A mini fridge. And wifi. Running water. A microwave, maybe. A generator. Bigger bed.”

Oh. Maybe he did mind the huddling close for warmth, then.

“It would ruin the abandoned charm.”

Peter took a drink from the bottle, and rested his arms on his knees. He was wearing sunglasses, squinting against the sun. His hair was messy, with just the slightest hint of blood making pieces stick together, and he looked like he hadn’t gotten enough sleep. By Lucian’s guess it was around two in the afternoon, and Peter would have to leave soon, to be back in time for his show.

“How long did it take before you were able to stop transforming during the full moon?”

“Oh. Maybe two and a half centuries or so. No more than three, definitely.”

“What?” 

Peter turned, pulling off his glasses so he could fully express his incredulity. 

“Well, keep in mind, you only get to practise about twelve times a year. And for the first 195 I was not my own person. Letting the vampires know that was something I was capable of would have been risky, and so I never tried. So, well, perhaps after five hundred moons or so?”

“That’s more years than I’ve been alive,” Peter said, “that’s insane.”

“You’ve all the time in the world.”

“Unless more vampires try to kill me.”

Lucian put his hand on Peter’s shoulder.

“It’s unlikely. And, keep in mind, you’re far more challenging to kill now.”

Peter leaned into the touch, and then so far over that his head rested on Lucian’s shoulder. It felt good to have him trust Lucian again. To have touches be okay.

“I had thought,” Peter said, “that I might learn how to so I wouldn’t have to change up my show’s schedule for this. Given the subject it’s the sort of thing people might notice.”

Lucian looked down at him, and felt Peter’s hair tickle his neck.

“No offence, but I don’t think the people who see your show are that into it.”

“How dare you,” Peter said, with absolutely no feeling.

“You’ve not seen the fora,” he added, “there are some hardcore ones. Mostly just people who think I’m hot, though. Which, you know, that’s nice. But there are enough weirdo goth nerds for me to get some too.”

“Can’t you just do it for the aesthetic? Claim you can’t fight vampires on the full moon because you’re off chasing werewolves? Or hunting them, might possibly be a better way to phrase it. Us, I suppose.”

“Eeh, possibly? Be difficult to explain to the people making it, though. I could join a relevant religion. Are there many around that worship the moon and for whom the full one is holy? I could probably find one.”

“Probably,” Lucian agreed, “It will likely be easier than trying to keep it from happening. At least within the lifetime of your show.”

Peter lifted his head to look at him, brows furrowed.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you can’t do it indefinitely, can you?”

“As we just agreed, I’m gonna get real old unless someone kills me.”

“Exactly. If you just stop ageing, people are going to become suspicious. Not right away, but give it five years, ten, then you’ll have to move on. You can only stay unnoticed for so long among humans.”

“Oh.”

He sounded so disappointed, and Lucian wanted to pull him into a hug. He didn’t. Not quite back there yet, probably.

“It’s harder now, what with photography, and the internet and such to just start anew, but you could do it. You look different enough without the costume and hair. And anyway, it’s a long way off yet.”

“Is that what you’ve done?”

“No,” Lucian admitted, “never been human, you know. Didn’t grow up around them. Never had all that much to do with them, never had the need. Always was a slave, and after that, I had my pack. These last ten years, being in hiding alone, it’s been… Difficult. Lonely.”

“But now you have me,” Lucian hoped Peter would say, but he didn’t.

He did take Lucian’s hand in his, though. Warm fingers squeezing against his. He thought, for one bright moment, that he might actually love Peter. Shit timing for it.

“If I can ever do anything to make this less bad for you, please let me,” he told Peter quietly.

Another squeeze of fingers.

“Yeah. But I better get back to the city now. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

It was a lot better than get out. It was still not quite what Lucian wanted to hear. But he could be patient. He was so very old, and he knew how to wait, and he would do so for Peter. Would let him be angry for as long as he needed to, so long as he had the faintest hope of being forgiven. When did he fall this deeply for him? When did this man become his motivation for what felt like everything?

Lucian watched Peter drive off into the bright afternoon sun. He lay down on the ground, sharp rocks digging into his back, dust getting in his hair. There were too many things to feel right now, too many emotions and thoughts fighting within him. Guilt and delight at Peter’s connection to him, his depending on him. He felt bad about sleeping so close to Peter, and yet the memory of being skin to skin was so very good. Lucian rested an arm across his eyes, to block out the sun. Peter’s body naked against his, after what felt like much longer than it had been, it had been so very good. And fuck, now his body seemed to be remembering it too. Not the time, nor the place.

Completely uninvited, thoughts of the last time they had been out here entered his mind. Of Peter, spread out before him, asking Lucian to fuck him, making such needy moans, and oh, his reaction to seeing just a tiny fraction of the wolf seeping into Lucian’s features. Dark eyes looking up at him, blunt nails clawing at his skin, trying to pull him ever closer. Fuck.

Lucian forced himself to get up, heading back into the safe darkness of the indoors. Nudged the mattress up against the wall to form a rough approximation of a chair, and slid his jeans down his hips, touching himself through the thin fabric of his underwear. He sank down, and got out his phone, finding that picture Peter had sent him. Was this weird? Was looking at the selfie Peter had sent him because he was scare of the things happening to his body due to Lucian’s infection so incredibly creepy of him? Possibly. But was there a reason why the picture had to show all of Peter’s torso, how very low the towel wrapped around his waist was? The way small droplets ran down his chest? And Lucian was so very hard.

Perhaps, if Peter ever forgave him, if things ever did get back to the way they were, as much as they could, Peter would find the idea of Lucian touching himself looking to that picture hot. Or at least more funny than creepy. But it did look so very good.

Lucian shoved his underwear down, too, running his fingers down the length of his cock, imagining they were Peter’s. Taking hold of himself, stroking, picturing the way Peter’s mouth had looked, stretched around him, obscene, delicious. Remembering just how good it had felt to be inside him, the way he twitched around him. He bit his bottom lip, imagining it was Peter, but with fangs, and those strange, pitch black eyes staring back into his.

When he came, it was to the thought of kissing Peter, so incongruently chaste, so foolishly romantic. His phone had laid forgotten on the floor next to him for a few minutes, the screen black with disuse. Cum was spattered across his hand, his chest and stomach, drying into a gross sticky mess as he sat there unmoving. Lucian felt vaguely guilty, but also too sated and drowsy to move. This was pathetic, he was pathetic, but fuck, he wanted Peter so very badly, in all ways he might have him. He needed him.

The phone vibrated against the wood, lighting up.

 _Thx_ , it said, followed by a wolf emoji, a moon emoji, and a small empty box that wouldn’t show up right. Lucian spent the rest of the day trying to work out whether the third one might be some sort of heart or kiss, and very seriously debating upgrading his phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my third longest fic ever now, in like 5 weeks. Neat. And my longest Good Omens Extended Universe one. It's like a short novel long. I've been writing like a six-seven page chapter every day for over a week now. I'm gonna to survive having three days to write a six page exam. I hope so, anyway. Sorry, I don't really admit to writing fic outside of ao3, so my ranting about it lives here. (all other social media i have people i know in real life follow me and if they learn of this i will have to throw myself off this building. Which says something about how much social anxiety and fear of rejection i have, not about the value of fanfiction as a medium). Also I just realised these boys have known each other for like six months now. That's more than I realised. Good for them.


	23. April 6th, 2013, Peter's Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghosts from the Past and Wolves from the Future (or at least the much more recent past)

**From: notpeter_vincent@gmail.com  
To: l0n3w0lf@gmail.com**

hey, Lucian gave me ur mail, said u were kinda recently turned & that I could probably hit u up with some qs? dude, is gr8, but has never been human & is a bit out of touch…

sent from my iphone

**From: l0n3w0lf@gmail.com  
To: notpeter_vincent@gmail.com **

Hi!

Yeah, I joined the pack in 1998, so, pretty good memory of what being newly turned was like. Welcome to the pack, by the way! There’s like 4 of us now, making progress. Anyway, feel free to ask me anything, I’m happy to help :)

PS. Is Lucian okay? I haven’t heard from him in months…

Sincerely,  
Luna

**From: notpeter_vincent@gmail.com  
To: l0n3w0lf@gmail.com**

yeah, Lucian’s good, mostly. Behaving. A good boy, u might say. Also what’s with u guys and hiding from humanity in the least discreet way possible? Ur name is moon? And ur email…

how do u do it, living with humans, acting like nothings wrong? Do people never notice ur suspicious absense once a month`? Have you had to move on because yuve not got old yet? Wats lucian like as a boss?? 

sent from my iphone

**From: l0n3w0lf@gmail.com  
To: notpeter_vincent@gmail.com **

Okay, first of all, you don’t get to talk to me about subtlety, Mr. Not Peter Vincent. And my name was Luna before I was bitten, even though, okay, I did change it to that, look, it was the nineties, I was 18 and drunk with the power of being a legal adult. Anyway.

I’m very glad to hear Lucian is good, please tell him hi and gently suggest he answer his emails more than every quarter. 

It’s actually pretty hard. After the pack dissolved and Lucian left, there was just me and one other lycan left in the city, and it had only been like five years since I left, so I just told everyone I’d been living abroad for a few years, begged my room-mate to take me back, and even managed to get my old job back. But yeah, it’s been a decade and there’s only so much longer I can justify still looking 23 with recommending increasingly expensive moisturisers. But keeping control of the accidental slip of fangs and stuff, that’s pretty easy, and takes less practise than you would think. Just make sure you only work daytime shifts on the full moon if you can’t get the day off. Make sure you have somewhere safe.

Lucian wasn’t really my boss? I mean, sort of, I guess. Very driven? Inspirational? Oddly obsessed with finding a human who could survive both a vampire’s and lycan’s bite? Something about the kid he never had, I was never important enough to be involved in that slightly mad scientist project, to be totally honest with you. But mostly great, absolutely. Especially if he asks what I said about him.

Sincerely,  
Luna

-

 **Peter:** hey I need 2 talk 2 u can u come over after my show 2nite?

 **Lucian:** Of course. At 22? I don’t actually have your schedule memorised.

 **Peter:** 22:15. c u then.

 **Lucian:** I look forward to it.

-

Peter was fairly distracted during his show that night, getting some lines a little messed up, forgetting his cue once. It was fine, though. Almost everyone in the audience had a drink in their hand, no one noticed. Well, no one except his co-workers, who glared and demanded to know if he’d been drinking again. They showed a little sympathy, though, at his mumbled explanation of relationship troubles before hurrying up to his penthouse.

He hurried into the shower, leaving a trail of clothing and fake hair behind him. Stage lights made you sweaty, even when they were moody and blue, and leather _really_ didn’t breathe. Knowing now, intimately, how good Lucian’s sense of smell was made him a little bit self conscious, though the man had gotten with him before Peter had made much of an effort, so presumably he didn’t mind too much.

When he smelled sufficiently strongly of a confusing mixture of tropical fruits, he towelled off, and left to find some clothes, but was somewhat distracted by the sight of Lucian sitting in one of the chairs, typing on his phone. He looked up, eyes widening just a little, lingering on Peter’s naked torso, then flicking back up to his face.

“You’re early,”Peter pointed out.

“It’s nearly half past,” Lucian said, holding up the screen of his phone to demonstrate.

“Ah,” Peter said, “right, well. Give me a minute.”

He hurried off in search of clothes before Lucian could make any comment. He wasn’t quite in the mood for it, nor for Lucian’s soft amused smiles. The way he looked at him sometimes, like he was a much much loved and endearingly stupid puppy, it felt… It felt kind of bad. And, okay, surely he must seem that way to someone so very old, someone who had gotten his shit together over half a millennium ago, but still. 

Rooting around a pile of clean laundry strewn deliberately along the less good side of his bed, he found a pair of soft black joggers (designer, ridiculously overpriced, didn’t really look it other than the tiny charcoal embroidered logo), and a thin, loose fitting black t-shirt with artfully placed rips, pulling them on before returning to the living space. Lucian had put his phone down, and was waiting patiently. A few strands of his dark hair was tied back, to keep it out of his face, and he looked good, the dark bags under his eyes less pronounced than usually. Peter sank into the chair opposite him, throwing a leg over the armrest, making himself comfortable.

“How… did you get in here?” Peter asked.

“Your assistant let me in. She also told me to, and I quote, not take any of your shit, because I seemed like I was good for you. I like her.”

“Huh.”

“So, your message said you needed to talk?” Lucian said, his voice so neutral as to be almost flat.

Bracing himself for bad news, perhaps, or trying to push down on hope. 

“I talked to that Lycan whose email you gave me,” Peter said, “a bit helpful, but she did have some stuff to say about you that I found interesting.”

“Oh?” 

Lucian sounded confused, and interested, but not wary. Which was maybe good?

“Yeah,” Peter said, unlocking his phone and pulling up the email conversation, handing the phone to Lucian, “have a look.”

He accepted it, and started reading. Smiled as he read, amused and fond again.

“Has anyone ever told you you type like a child?”

Peter grimaced at him.

“Never. Got too rich and famous for people to tell me that sort of stuff. Can recommend. Anyway, read on, wolf boy.”

Lucian raised his eyebrows, clearly still amused, but continued reading. Then his face fell.

“So, Lucian, I’d like to talk about that. Your obsession with creating a vampire lycan hybrid, and, coincidentally, why you turned me not all that long after realising I still had some traces of vampire in me. And what that’s got to do with your kid.”

Lucian looked pained.

“I can explain.”

“Yeah. Why I asked you here, isn’t it. So. Spill.”

“Right. Look, yes, it’s true that what made me interested in you initially was the vampire thing. Partly. I did also know who you were, recognised you from the posters. And seeing a fake vampire hunter out there, in the real world, fighting real vampires? That was pretty intriguing. So it’s- It was many things that drew me to you, okay?”

“And why is this shit so important to you then? Enough for you to be a mad scientist?”

“I- okay. I object to her phrasing. There was a scientist in my pack whom I had help me with that project, and okay, ethics was not his primary concern. It wasn’t mine, either. But you have to understand, my goal was to end the war, to unite the species!”

“And what’s this got to do with a kid?” Peter demanded.

Lucian sighed, looked out the window at the night, eyes all big and sad.

“I’ve told you about Sonja, yes? And what happened to her? Well, her being with me, Viktor wasn’t going to kill her over that. He was going to hush it up. Kill me, and keep it quiet, or, in the worst case, if someone were to learn anything, claim I _got loose_ and _raped_ her.”

“That’s terrible, Lucian, I’m-”

“But she wouldn’t have let him do that. She was too _good_. And it never came to that, because she told him, told him and me and the guards attacking us that she was pregnant. With our child. A union of the species, the best parts of both. A hybrid. And that was it. That was the worst possible outcome, an end to the idea that the vampires were inherently superior, so he killed her. He killed her and chained me up so I had to watch her, and our unborn child, burn.”

Lucian’s eyes were wet and shining and focused on a spot somewhere to the left of Peter. His hands were clenched, nails digging into the arms of the chair, and damn him, now Peter felt bad for asking. Although.

“Hold on. Are you- did you turn me so that I would what? Fulfil the destiny of your unborn child? And then also decide you wanted to sleep with me? Because wolf boy, that’s fucked up.”

“What? No, of course not! I’ve, Peter, I’ve been working on this for centuries. Finding human descendants of Corvinus, experimenting on myself, on other lycans, it’s- It’s not creepy. Not in that way. I’m trying to, very literally, unite two warring species.”

“Can you even be different species if you can have kids together?”

Lucian opened his mouth, frowned, and closed it again.

“I- That’s semantics. The point is, yes, okay, I was very focused on achieving that goal, and was doing so in honour of the memory of my wife, and the life and family we might have had, and for my people. And yes, it did cross my mind when you told me. How could it not? Do you know how rare it is to survive a vampire bite and come out on the other side mostly unscathed for a human?”

“So you _were_ planning to turn me all along,” Peter said, every ounce of the bitterness he felt clear in his voice.

“No! No. I said I thought about it. At first, yes, it was the vampire blood. And then I got to know you. Started to like you. Fell for you. And I started to think about turning you for entirely different reasons.”

“I thought you were all for cross species relationships? Was that not the point of your tragic backstory?”

“No, Peter. I started to think about turning you because I didn’t want to lose you. I know it’s early, so very, very early, but I really, really like you, and when you’re this old, it’s hard not to think about how quickly humans die. And I didn’t think I could bear it.”

He looked down.

“So you… Wanted to turn me so we could what? Be together forever?”

Peter’s tone was a little more sarcastic and mocking than he had intended.

“...It does sound quite creepy when you say it like that, yes. But Peter, I would never have done it if you weren’t dying! I know how you feel about it, about humanity, about… monsters. I would never have done it without your consent, and I wouldn’t have brought it up. Well, not unless we stayed together for years and years. But you were dying, Peter, you were dying immediately, and you didn’t get to have a choice. I wanted you to at least have the chance to live, even if it wasn’t quite in the same way you were used to.”

Lucian looked at him with big dark shining eyes.

“I am so very sorry for everything, Peter, but you have to believe me, I didn’t intend for this to happen, I respect you too much for that.”

Some part of Peter felt perversely satisfied, happy to have the emotional upper hand. But that was fucked up. He wanted to believe Lucian, he really did. He seemed like he was telling the truth, but eight centuries of practise would probably make anyone good at lying. But would he? 

Peter shifted in the chair, pulling his legs up and resting his arms on his knees. Defensive, maybe. 

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because I- Peter, I wouldn’t lie to you. I have… omitted truths, yes. I’m not now. I didn’t tell you because yes, the way things have worked out, it seems conveniently in line with things I’ve wanted, but I promise you, not like this.”

Peter sighed, closing his eyes, resting his forehead against his arms.

“I don’t know what to feel about this,” he told Lucian, not looking up.

“I understand.”

“Fuck,” Peter muttered.

“Will, uh, will you get me a drink?”

“Of course. The green nonsense?”

“Yeah. Get yourself whatever you want.”

Peter listened to the sounds of Lucian’s quiet footsteps, the clink of ice into glasses, liquid splashing. Accepted the glass which was carefully nudged into his hand, lifting his head for long enough to take a sip.

“I just… I have so very many feelings about this, Lucian, and I don’t know which to listen to. It’s confusing as shit.”

“That’s understandable,” Lucian agreed.

He had chosen the chair next to Peter, this time. And fuck, even now, after everything he had learned today, he still wanted to be closer to Lucian too. Peter swallowed down his drink, too quickly. He wanted Lucian to hold him. But then, that was probably bad, wasn’t it? To ask him to comfort Peter through his deciding whether he wanted to be with him or not, whether to forgive him? Well, mostly the last thing. He already knew he wanted to be with him, just not if he should.

“Will you stay?”

“For as long as you want.”


	24. April 6th, 2013, Peter's Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drunk Peter is the only sensible person, but sadly no one else agrees with him

Peter kept drinking for a long time. Lycan metabolisms were more robust, and even as young and newly turned as he was, getting drunk required more alcohol than it used to. Lucian watched him. Watched the frustration mellow out into a sort of low apathy, the way the looks he gave Lucian switched between frustration, longing, sadness and lust.

They didn’t talk much, and Lucian wasn’t sure why Peter had asked him to stay. Still, he did so happily, if only to be there when Peter managed to decide how he felt, or what he needed him there for. He drank a little, though not enough for it to have any noticeable effect. He felt one of them ought to be the responsible one, and it was very clearly not going to be Peter, whose every trip to the bar set up was slightly less coordinated.

“Come,” Peter said at last, getting out of his chair unsteadily and tugging on Lucian’s arm.

He lead him into the bedroom, and stood in front of the bed for a moment, swaying gently, then leaned into Lucian’s side.

“Will you hold me?”

His voice was filled with a complex mixture of emotions Lucian couldn’t quite identify. But he agreed. Of course he agreed. Kicked of his shoes and lay down next to Peter, chest pressed into the other man’s back, an arm over his middle, feeling him warm against him. They were fully clothed, both of them, which was likely for the best, but Lucian pulled the blanket over them anyway. Buried his face in Peter’s hair. Feeling like despite the events of the evening and their conversation, he might never want to leave.

“It’s unfair of me,” Peter said.

“What is?”

“Keeping you here. In my bed. Using you for comfort while I decide whether to forgive you.”

“Perhaps,” Lucian agreed, “but I don’t mind.”

“No?”

“No,” Lucian promised him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, “just relax.”

“You should,” Peter murmured, and yawned.

Should he? Was Lucian letting his desire for Peter, his longing for his forgiveness cloud his judgement? Probably, yes. But right now, having Peter there, in his arms, felt so very good. It felt right, felt like he had belonged there the whole time, like the thing that had been wrong for the last century or so was that Peter had not been falling asleep in his arms. 

Peter fell asleep quite quickly, and Lucian didn’t. He wanted to stay awake, to memorise this, what it felt like, because right now, Peter deciding he would never want anything more to do with him, felt increasingly likely. He wanted to be able to carry the memory, the feeling and experience of this with him, like he carried with him all those stolen moments on tops of towers, hidden in deep dungeons with Sonja. Only Peter wasn’t going to die. Of course he wasn’t, they were so far away from the war now, and as a lycan he was able to protect himself. And, given how upset he had seemed when Lucian mentioned returning to Europe, he had no intention of leaving America, which should, paradoxically, keep him safe. As much as he could be, if Lucian would no longer be allowed to protect him.

Lucian mouthed the words he couldn’t say while Peter was awake into his shoulder, cursing himself for feeling it, at such an inconvenient time, when all he was, and all he had done seemed designed to make Peter resent him. And who could blame him? Everything had ended up just like Lucian had wanted, and the knowledge tore at him like claws ripping through soft internal organs. And however he tried to think about it, it remained solidly his own fault. He shouldn’t have gotten involved. He should have left Peter at the hospital, that second time they met, and avoided him. Left the city. What was he even staying for? The answer squirmed in his sleep, rolling over, and pressed his face into Lucian’s chest. His heart felt like it might burst, explode into a flood of centuries old blood, drowning them both.

An hour or two later, Peter stirred, blinking open red and tired eyes. Looked up, assessing where he was, and then pressing his face back into Lucian’s chest.

“How are you feeling?” Lucian asked softly.

“Like I’m stood on a record that’s playing, and I can’t get off,” Peter murmured in reply, running a hand over Lucian’s side, leaving it on his hip, nudging at fabric until it found skin.

“Yes,” Lucian agreed, “you did have quite a lot to drink.”

Peter hummed in agreement, then wriggled upwards till he had easier access to Lucian’s face, pressing a kiss to his lips, tongue pushing at his lips, asking for permission to deepen it, and look, Lucian couldn’t be strong always, so he let him. And Peter’s mouth felt so very good against his, even if it tasted of that awful liquor, and Peter’s hand was shoving his shirt up, hand on the small of Lucian’s back, holding him close. Peter’s teeth tugged on Lucian’s bottom lip, and he thrust lazily against him, clearly hard already. Lucian indulged, for just a moment longer, until Peter’s hands started trying to unbuckle his belt.

“No, Peter.”

“Why not?” Peter demanded, in a tone indicating he knew perfectly well why, and didn’t feel like this was a good enough reason.

“You’re drunk.”

“Yeah, so?”

“You’re not going to want this when you’re sober.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Peter said, satisfied, his hands resuming their work until Lucian gently pushed them away, pulling his hands up so he could kiss his knuckles.

“What do you mean, Peter?”

Peter frowned.

“Sober me is stupid and full of feelings. ‘S why we gotta do this now! While I’m drunk and sensible.”

He seemed very satisfied with himself, and only a little insulted when Lucian laughed. He placed a conciliatory kiss on Peter’s forehead.

“I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“You’re not. If anything I’m- taking advantage of me. Or you? I’m… Something.”

“You’re drunk, Peter, and I’m not, and you can’t consent, however much both of us want this. You’re going to be angry with me when you wake up tomorrow. You’re angry enough with me as it is, and I’m not sure I could take more.”

“’M sorry,” Peter told him, “sober me is a dick.”

“No,” Lucian said, “you’re perfectly within your right to be angry at me.”

“Mm,” Peter agreed, “but consider this very important argument; you’re really hot and I would like to fuck you.”

“That is incredibly compelling, Peter, I would like that very much indeed, but not while you’re drunk, okay? You’re going to regret it, and you’re going to be angry at me and yourself, and that’s not going to help either of us, is it?”

Peter whined, pressing himself closer to Lucian, grinding his clothed cock against him, and, feeling that Lucian was equally hard, looked at him with an accusing glare.

“What? Just because I have to be the responsible one it doesn’t mean I’m immune to your charms.”

“I _am_ very charming, aren’t I?” Peter said with a stupid grin, then widened his eyes.

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna go throw up now,” he announced, stumbling out of the bed, crashing into the night stand briefly, and walking shakily out the door.

Even after being bitten, Peter remained so terribly human. It was quite endearing, if, currently, also a little bit disgusting. After twenty minutes, Lucian went to check on him, and found Peter had fallen asleep on the bathroom floor. Right. Definitely made the right decision, then. He found a wash-cloth and cleaned up Peter’s face, then carried him back to the bedroom.

Lucian found one of Peter’s books, one of werewolf myths in Europe, he was in the mood for comedy, and sat down on the bed beside Peter. It didn’t feel like he was going to get much sleep tonight, but he wanted to stay there anyway. He could only hope Peter wouldn’t be too angry with him in the morning. Perhaps he should have stopped him the moment he started kissing him. Probably he should have, but there were limits to his self control, and Peter was so very insistent, and so very cute when he was drunk.

The book was terrible, but not even in a funny way. Quite insulting, as they all were, with endless descriptions of how humans, once infected, had no choice but to transform into terrifying bloodthirsty beasts, with no desire other than to kill and eat humans. Which was incredibly unfair. Lucian had only eaten a human once in all his eight hundred years as a lycan, and he had even felt guilty about it afterwards. This was slander. He would have to keep teaching Peter different, because if these were his sources it was no wonder being turned had upset him this much. Not that he didn’t seem to have believed Lucian was different, but still, this was the kind of thing that made people believe themselves to be doomed to become monsters, which was, usually, what lead people to become them.

Peter was very clingy in his sleep, it turned out, nuzzling his face into Lucian’s thigh, throwing an arm over his leg, and generally making reading challenging, so Lucian gave up on it, and in the end dozed off himself.

Peter wasn’t particularly angry with him when he woke up the next day. This was primarily because he was too busy being hungover, and wanted only to lie very quietly in a darkened room, occasionally accepting Lucian’s offerings of painkillers and water. Lucian was quite impressed. It took solid effort for a lycan to drink enough to get that hungover, but then, Peter had been dedicated. And though his relationship with alcohol was still not ideal, at least he wouldn’t be able to seriously ruin his health with it now. Not his physical health, at any rate.

Lucian wasn’t sure whether Peter wanted him to stay or leave, but based on what he knew of Peter, the man had no trouble telling people to get out when he didn’t want them there, and so figured it was safe enough to stay. He spent some time studying the weapons Peter had amassed in further detail. The gun with the silver bullets remained in its case, prominently displayed. Which was sad. Perhaps Peter had simply forgotten about it? Or maybe he had taken Lucian’s frustrated words literally. Fuck, he hoped not. He briefly debated stealing it, getting rid of the thing, but Peter would undoubtedly be angry, and simply buy a new one. It wasn’t as if they were particularly difficult to get hold of.

Around five Peter emerged from the bedroom, and disappeared into the bathroom. He spent what Lucian estimated to be a full half hour standing under the shower, and then returned out in the same clothes he had worn to sleep, though he did smell much better. Weirdly like fruit. 

“Lucian,” Peter began, squinting against the comparatively bright lights, “hey.”

“Feeling any better?” Lucian asked, cautiously, as Peter joined him on the sofa, looking as if he might, in fact, prefer to be unconscious again.

“Err,” Peter said, “compared to what? I thought… I thought maybe being a lycan would make me immune to hangovers…”

“Just resistant to them,” Lucian said, a smile tugging at his lips, “but you worked hard at it and managed to get there. You did go through a lot of alcohol last night though.”

“Guergh,” Peter groaned, “don’t talk about that awful horrible nightmare stuff.”

He closed his eyes, leaning back. He was on the other side of the sofa, and given it was one of the enormous angled things, taking up most of the room, there was well over a meter between them, safely far from touching.

“Did I,” Peter asked, eyes still resolutely closed, “try to make you have sex with me last night.”

“You did,” Lucian confirmed, trying to kept all traces of amused smugness out of his voice and likely failing.

“Fuck. Sorry. I shouldn’t-”

“It’s fine, Peter. You were quite endearing. And very persuasive, it was a challenge to refuse.”

Peter groaned again. He slid down, till he was laying on his back, on leg on the sofa, one dangling down onto the floor. Groping blindly, he found a cushion and placed it over his face, to block out either daylight or embarrassment.

“Would you like me to get you some food? Coffee? Anything?”

“God no, not food,” the cushion said, and made a disgusted noise, “coffee though. Don’t have much shit in my kitchen, but if you could go out and find me the biggest sugariest stupid coffee drink you can find, that would, uh. Would go a long way towards making me forgive you.”

“Ah,” Lucian said, “of course. If I’d realised how easily bribed you were I’d have tried this far earlier.”

“Fuck off,” the cushion said, but without much bite to it.

Peter hadn’t moved at all, not even to remove the cushion from his face when Lucian returned. He set the monstrous creation barely worthy of the description of coffee down on the low table next to Peter, and settled next to him on the sofa with his own drink, which was significantly more toned down. The place he had chosen was a little closer to Peter, not enough to be in his personal space, but close enough that if he reached out a hand he might touch the man. He hoped this was allowed.

Peter emerged, after a minute or two, from beneath the cushion, and sat up enough as to manage to drink without spilling it all over himself. Lucian gave him a few minutes, then asked.

“Why did you ask me to stay last night, Peter?”

“Wanted you to,” Peter explained helpfully.

“So you could ignore me while you got increasingly drunk, and then come on to me?”

“Sounds bad when you say it like that,” Peter admitted.

“I don’t know, all right? I… Fuck, Lucian, I want you so bad. So very fucking bad, but you keep telling me this stuff, and I can’t keep myself from wondering whether you engineered all this shit. The kidnapping and vampire and everything, and it’s driving me in-fucking-sane.”

Which. What the fuck.

“Peter,” Lucian asked, as patiently as he was capable of, “did you just say you think I made a vampire come and kidnap you and _shoot_ you in the fucking _heart_ so I could have an _excuse_ to _turn_ you?”

“Well, did you?” Peter retorted, not even looking at him.

“What? Of course not! How could you even- Is that what you think of me, Peter? Is that the kind of monster you think I am?”

Peter didn’t reply, didn’t look at him, the only sound that of an icy slurry being slurped up a straw.

“If that’s what you think I am, the depths you think I would sink to, well, I suppose I can’t blame you for not trusting me, or for being this angry about being turned. I think… I think it’s best I leave.”

“Lucian-”

“Let me know when you make up your mind, Peter,” Lucian said, keeping his voice level a struggle.

“Fuck,” Lucian said to his reflection in the lift mirror as he descended.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drawing is from october but It's still intended to be Lucian. Though I guess this is based more on the design from the first film, they seem wolfier in RotL. I really like this design, though. More aggressively monster, but still quite aesthetically pleasing.


	25. April 12th, 2013, The Desert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter monologues

It took Peter five days, some light CBT and a few more emails to the young lycan in Budapest before he got as far as trying to apologise. He was a little worried that he had waited too long, and it felt weird not to hear from Lucian for all that time, despite his just having gone several weeks almost without speaking to him. It hurt. It wasn't like he was alone for so much of the time, but whoever he was with, whatever he was doing, he found himself missing Lucian. Missing the way he smiled at him, fond and just a little bit exasperated. Missed burying his fingers in that long hair and pulling him in for a kiss. The warmth of Lucian against his skin, and the way falling asleep next to him made him feel safe. Peter missed him so much it almost made him forget why he had been angry in the first place. Almost.

A few days earlier he had talked to his therapist about the situation, or at least a heavily redacted version of what had happened, with analogies that had quite gotten away from him, and which he could tell she was getting a bit frustrated with. He had talked about how Lucian had acted, how frustratingly kind and patient he was, how upset at Peter's accusation, and had suggested firmly that he apologised. Which seemed like a good idea at the time, but right now Peter's honourable intentions felt like they were stuck in his throat, were choking him, and he hadn't even gone in there. They had also talked about why Peter had so many doubts, why he was so afraid that Lucian's intentions weren't true. She had suggested it was because he didn't feel he was worthy of being cared about. He had argued that he was extremely well loved, pulling up several fan blogs and fora to prove his point. This was apparently not the same. 

"Do you feel like you deserve his love?" she had asked, and, after a solid five minute digression about how it was so very early to use that particular l-word, and what was love anyway, Peter had to admit that no, he didn't, not really.

And that was the thing, his therapist had said, that was holding him back. That was messing with his head. Because if Lucian didn't really care about him, then his weird and complicated plot to cut off Peter's arm made sense (the analogies had become less and less applicable), if Lucian didn't care, then there was no reason for him not to use absurd complex plans specifically to hurt Peter for no discernible reason (her words). And so she interrogated him, for a while, about what Lucian actually had done. This was, naturally, challenging, and demanded a great deal of less than convincing ad-libing on Peter's part. She concluded, in the end, that there seemed to be no actual reason for Peter to believe Lucian wanted anything other than to be kind to him, to help him, and occasionally save his life and help him get better at fighting fake vampires. And in a stunning feat of something that wasn't quite cognitive beahvioural therapy, but some distant relation of it, she managed to convince Peter too. Mostly. Not to not be angry or hurt about what happened, but to direct that anger and hate at the universe, rather than, as she put it, the only borderline healthy adult relationship in his life. So he tried to put the advice into action and apologise.

 **Peter:** Lucian Im sorry

 **Peter:** Lucian can we talk? Please?

 **Peter:** I’m very very sorry

 **Peter:** r u ok? Or just mad at me still?

 **Peter:** Lucian pls let me kno if ur ok

 **Peter:** I get ur angry ok pls just reply 2 say ur ok

 **Peter:** If I send u a dickpic will u b more or less mad at me?

 **Peter:** sorry about the last text. Where r u?

 **Peter:** im gonna go out to the desert can u meet me there?? pls???

When Lucian failed to reply to his texts for several hours, Peter got worried. He didn't have a show that night, so he got into his car, and drove out of the city. It was afternoon, and the traffic was heavy, so it took longer than he would have liked, and it was close to sunset by the time he pulled into the flat, gravelly space outside the shack. The familiar motorbike stood parked by the wall. Excellent. Or terrible. Peter felt like shit over what he'd said, over how Lucian had reacted. It had seemed a reasonable suspicion at the time, although not a very likely one, but Lucian's response, and the fact Peter hadn't heard from him for days had convinced him of Lucian's innocence, at least in this matter. He took a deep breath. Another. Calm, being calm was the key. 

Lucian hadn't come out to greet him, but if he was in there, surely he must have heard Peter arriving. Perhaps he was out in the desert, roaming in wolf form, getting out some energy and aggression. It didn't seem entirely likely, though, as he never usually transformed in the daylight. This was more due to concerns for being seen, and not because having the moon there helped, as Peter had first guessed. Lucian had read about the use of drones for aerial photography a month or two before, and had gotten quite paranoid about it. Peter had suggest he keep an eye out for such photos and create accounts on the relevant sites to claim they were bad bigfoot costumes, but Lucian had not seemed about the efficacy of this, not quite believing how badly humans wanted to believe in the sasquatch. Peter had lived in the us for a decade; he knew better.

After a solid ten minutes of nervously lurking outside as the sky turned pink and orange, Peter went inside. He knocked, briefly, then opened the door. In the utter darkness within he was glad of his newfound improved dark vision, and it took him only a moment to spot the large shape of a transformed Lucian laying on the floor, angled so as not to be immediately visible from the doorway. He seemed listless, legs and paws stretched out before him, massive head resting on the floor, though the mattress was just next to him.

"Hey," Peter said, feeling awkward addressing the huge wolf, though he knew, of course, that Lucian could hear and understand him perfectly.

Lucian moved his head just a touch, eyes flicking to Peter, then back to whatever space he had been staring into.

"Okay if I join you?" Peter asked, then, considering, added, "growl twice for no."

Lucian remained silent.

"Good. Great. Been wanting to talk to you, but you weren't returning my texts."

With his head, Lucian gestured first to where his mobile lay atop a pile of carefully folded clothes, then to his paws.

"Right, fair enough, good point, hard to type with claws, I get that."

He felt himself rambling, much more silence to fill when one of them didn't have vocal cords designed for human speech. Peter sat down, within arms reach of Lucian's head, back against the wall.

"So, how are you doing? Having some good, quality wolf time today, huh? Always nice. I've been meaning to work on that, the whole voluntary transforming thing. Hope you'll help me, if you're feeling more vocal at some point. Which I hope you will. Can't stay a wolf forever. Or can you? Genuinely do not know enough about how this stuff works yet."

Lucian sighed, that heavy sort of sigh dogs sometimes do, as if the whole world rests on their shoulders. Which was probably closer to the truth for Lucian.

“So the thing I came to talk to you about was, uh, the last time you were at my place. That was, uh, it was… It didn’t go the way I intended it to. Things were said, things that, perhaps, not all parties should have said, and, ah, perhaps, were we in the mood, some retractions could be made-”

Lucian growled.

“Was that in the sense of one growl for yes, or?”

Lucian got to his paws, all four of them, and stalked closer to Lucian, till he was staring down his muzzle into his face, and snarled.

“So,” Peter ventured, “as in shut up Peter, you’re rambling, please get to the point and apologise?”

Lucian lifted a paw to give a stiff approximation of a thumbs up, his hands less dextrous in their wolfier state.

“Oh, that’s actually better than the growls. Good initiative. See? That’s why you’re needed! Experience!”

It was difficult to see, given the nature of lycan eyes, but it looked like Lucian rolled his, before collapsing heavily onto the floor again. This time, though, his head rested on Peter’s thigh. Okay. Progress. Lucian stroked a hand through the mane of fur along the back of his neck.

“Is this okay?”

His voice was quieter now, more calm, not the forced cheerfulness of anxiousness. Lucian gave him that strange not quite a thumbs up again, so Peter continued.

“Good. Good. So, main reason I’m here is that I wanted to let you know that some of the things I said, were harsh, and unfounded, and fuck. I’m really sorry, Lucian. I’m really, really sorry.”

Lucian made a soft sort of rumbling noise.

“You haven’t done anything that would indicate that you’re the kind of person who would do something like that, all you’ve done is save my life a bunch of times. Embarrassingly many times. And you’re so very nice to me, and so patient with all… All of it. Just all the stuff about me that’s so messed up. I know I’m not exactly easy to get along with.”

Lucian made a movement almost like a shrug.

“Hey,” Peter said, “don’t agree with my self deprecation, wolf boy.”

Lucian nudged his head into Peter’s belly, which Peter wasn’t entirely sure what meant, but he kept letting Peter run his hand through his fur, so it couldn’t be all bad. Perhaps with experience he would get better at reading lycan body language.

“But my point is, I worry, right? I’m not good at… Trusting people. Not really. Shallow trust, yeah, fine, whatever, but like actually knowing people won’t harm me? That’s really hard for me. And you’ve never given me any reason to believe that you would hurt me, you know that. I’ve never been scared of you. Well, except like, right when we met, before you turned human shaped again, and you were just like this massive bipedal wolf tearing a vampire into pieces. I know that was you saving my life, but like, that was pretty terrifying. So it’s, what I’m trying to say is that… Even though you’ve never been anything but nice to me, and caring, and lovely, it’s really hard for me to trust people. And, well, especially non-human people. Which, these last five weeks, is pretty hypocritical of me, I guess.”

Lucian responded by moving closer, positioning himself more thoroughly in Peter’s lap, his nose pressed into the fabric of Peter’s t-shirt.

“Yeah,” Peter said, “you too.”

It felt like a very, very heavy hug. Peter ran his fingertips over the strange contours of Lucian’s face, the exaggerated brow ridge, the sharp cheekbones, the rounded muzzle whose shape didn’t look quite like any animal Peter was aware of. He wondered whether this was what his face looked like also, during the full moon. Given that Lucian was the only lycan he had ever seen, he wasn’t sure which features were his specifically, and which belonged to lycans as a whole. Or whether they varied. Lucian had told him that the closer a lycan was to the source, the more powerful they were. Perhaps this also affected their shape? And Lucian was the source, which meant, with age and experience, Peter would be reasonably powerful too. Which was kind of cool. If he had to be a monster, better to be one of the stronger ones. And to, if neither of them messed up more, date the most powerful of them, surely, was even better.

“You make me feel safe, you know that?” Peter told Lucian, ruffling his fur.

“Like I’ve got the biggest, scariest wolf on my side, so no matter how they try, no one can really hurt me. Which, I mean, clearly someone did hurt me, mortally wounded me, but thanks to you I did get better, so. Thank you? I never did say thank you for saving me, did I? I know I was mad about it, and if I’m completely honest, I still am a little bit. Probably will be for a while. This wasn’t where I saw my life going. Granted, where I saw my life going was drinking myself to death as soon as I was too old to play a sexy vampire hunter, so, you know, this might not be that much of a step down, when I think about it. But still. If it wasn’t for you, I would have died three times, and only one of those times was sort of your fault, so on the whole? Good job.”

Lucian raised his head, looking up at Peter with an inscrutable expression, then nudged his muzzle against Peter’s chest. Peter grabbed his large head in his hands, lifting it up just enough to press a kiss to the spot between Lucian’s eyes.

“I’m going to try to get used to it,” he continued, “and I will eventually. Being a lycan can’t be all bad, right? I mean, you’re the literal definition of a lycan, and you’re pretty great.”

Lucian made a soft noise, almost like a purr.

“Are you still angry I accused you of that thing?”

Lucian made a motion almost recognisable as a nod.

“Right, okay. That’s fair. We’re both a bit angry still. We can deal with that. Probably. I’m sure you’ll agree when you’re in a more talkative mood.”

Lucian didn’t respond, which Peter chose to interpret as enthusiastic agreement.

“You know, you’re pretty easy to talk to when you’re like this.”

Lucian made an insulted noise, but it was not so bad as to make him move from his comfortable position. He licked Peter’s stomach through his t-shirt. Peter felt good. Mission accomplished. Lucian less angry. Peter also less angry, shocked, perhaps, by his guilt, into realising that most of the blame wasn’t in fact Lucian’s, so much as a series of suboptimal events, that could not have been prevented.

“Yeah,” Peter said, “yeah. I like you, Lucian. Like you like this, too. All soft and agreeing with me a lot more. And big and scary and cool, that too, promise. You know, I think this immortality and wolf related super powers might not be all bad. Gives us more in common that isn’t centred around vampiric trauma. And I… I’m kinda looking forward to you teaching me more about this stuff."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fucked up and uploaded this twice, sorry :\  
> Also, i reread your comments on the last chapter, and I do hope this chapter makes sense? Like emotionally for them? It does to me, but then, inevitably there's gonna be bits of it, details that live in my head, and which I forget to put into the actual text, so... awkward lycan thumb up or down as to whether peter's apology and lucian's implied acceptance of it comes too easily?


	26. April 16th, 2013, The Desert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lycan Skills 101: Getting Wolfy

"No, you have to- it's not about flexing all of your facial muscles at once, that's not how it works. You have to..."

"What? I have to what, wolf boy?" Peter snarled through a mouthful of fangs.

Lucian sighed. He was trying to teach Peter how to change into his full wolf form without the moon, but it was, for whatever reason, proving challenging.

"It's like the face thing, which, clearly, you’ve gotten quite good at. Just do that, but with your whole body."

"Right, okay, but how do I actually _do that_?"

They were back in the desert, inside the increasingly unabandoned shack, safe from strange eyes. Well. Safe from strangers’ eyes. Plenty of eyes that were strange looking, particularly in Peter’s eye sockets, currently. Lucian sat on the floor, legs crossed, back against the wall, watching him. He didn't mind the time it was taking, as Peter had to be nude for the transformation, and only had a blanket thrown over his shoulders. But this wasn't about staring at his probably-boyfriend naked, this was about teaching him proper lycan technique. He gestured vaguely.

"You just sort of... do it. Think about being large and wolf shaped, and just.. become that."

"Oh, thanks, I should have tried that," Peter growled.

It was something very appealing about seeing Peter like this. Not naked, or, well, obviously that also, but the way his eyes went completely black, the small hints of wolf creeping through. The promise of newfound power within. It filled Lucian with a mixture of pride and arousal that Lucian tried not to think about in too great detail. Peter groaned, sinking, dramatically, down to the floor.

"You'll get it eventually Peter, I promise, it just has to... to click how it works. It's the most natural thing. Well, super natural, perhaps."

Peter nodded, head thunking against the floorboards.

"D'you think it would be easier if I waited till after moonrise?"

Lucian shrugged.

"Never known that to have much of an effect, but if you feel it will help. We could always take a little break, if you want?"

"Yeah, maybe," Peter muttered from the floor.

Lucian got up and moved closer, sitting down in such a way that he only had to nudge Peter a little bit to get him to rest his head in his lap. He ran his fingers through Peter's short hair, eliciting a pleased half moan sort of a noise.

"I'll show you in a bit, how does that sound? Might help to inspire you. Or show you how to, maybe."

Peter hummed his agreement. He was beautiful, all stretched out before and partly on top of Lucian. Made up of long limbs that gave the illusion of grace if not pressed too hard, skinny, but with hints of muscle lurking below the surface. There was a lot of surface to Peter, smooth and shiny, but it was what it hid which pulled Lucian in. Much as the stage persona was fascinating, and the costume quite sexy, the real Peter fascinated Lucian much more. Not of course, that his sort of cool and sexy famous person vibe, which Lucian had begun to realise was, at least partly, a conscious choice, wasn't appealing too. It wasn’t that Lucian preferred Peter when he was scared and talking about his childhood trauma, or adorably awkward and in love, or just acting like an absolute idiot. It was, Lucian thought, that Peter felt comfortable enough to share that with him. Well, not necessarily on purpose, but without immediately withdrawing into the person he had clearly become while in Vegas. That Peter trusted Lucian enough to be himself without self-censoring. 

"'M glad we're not fighting still," Peter murmured.

"Me too," Lucian agreed, "I don't know what has happened to me these last few months, but I missed you so very much. Was so worried you'd decide you never wanted to see me again."

"Oh," Peter said, "I don't think I'd ever have decided that."

"No?"

"Nah. Who else would I ask about all this werewolf stuff?"

"Right. Of course."

Lucian thought he did a passable job of keeping the disappointment from his voice, but Peter seemed to pick up on it, pitch black voids opening to look up at him.

"Also because I like you, you idiot."

"Ah, good. Otherwise this would be... weird."

Peter removed one of Lucian's hands from his hair, pulling it close enough to press a kiss to it.

"Yeah." 

And it really was quite wonderful that it wasn’t. That Peter could once again comfortably relax with Lucian, completely naked, his head in his lap, and it didn’t have to make either of them immediately aware of it. Well, not to say that Lucian didn’t appreciate being able to admire Peter’s body, but it didn’t have to be a sex thing. The sex was great, but it was nice to be able to look at him and appreciate the elegant curves and angles of his torso, the way it dipped right under his ribs, how aesthetically pleasing the thin triangle of hair leading down towards where his cock lay limply. How long and elegant his hands were, compared to Lucian’s, the slight hint of freckles across his shoulders, from when he at some point had abandoned his goth aesthetic and gotten some sun. 

“What’re you thinking about,” Peter asked, “that’s got you staring at me this intensely?”

“You,” Lucian admitted, “how beautiful you are.”

It felt a bit silly to say out loud, but Peter’s momentary blush made it worth it. It transformed, however, quickly into an only slightly artificial smugness in the form of an immensely self-satisfied fanged grin.

“Thanks,” he said, making a kissing motion in the direction of Lucian’s face, clearly too lazy to move.

“You are too, you know,” Peter said, closing his eyes again, “always. All versions of you, although selfishly I gotta admit I prefer the shapes that allow for kissing.”

“That’s very speciesist of you,” Lucian scolded jokingly.

“Can’t be speciesist when we’re the same species, babe, you saw to that,” Peter retorted, and the pet-name felt like an incredibly pleasant punch to Lucian’s chest.

“Internalised speciesism,” Lucian insisted after a slightly too long pause, “but then, I prefer your face like this too. Though I have to admit I look forward to seeing your wolf face more. It is good also.”

“Yeah, about that,” Peter said, “I don’t actually know what I look like like that? Do you think you could, whenever I do manage to transform, get a photo of me?”

“You’re so vain you need wolf selfies?”

“It wouldn’t be a selfie if you took it of me, you incomprehensibly old man. And I mean yeah, kind of? Not a lot of mirrors out here, are there? Do you know what your wolf shape looks like? I mean, growing up in a vampire castle I imagine there weren’t any mirrors.”

“I- what?”

“Because vampires don’t have reflections?”

“That’s a myth. Or at least not applicable to those specific vampires. There might be others who react differently to the silver in mirrors.”

Peter frowned.

“If that’s the case, why do I still have a reflection, then? Silver’s bad for us, I tried.”

“Because trusting both me and literally all werewolf myths ever was clearly not enough info for you.”

“Well!” Peter exclaimed, “Well it could’ve been different! Could be I had enough vampire left in me to be immune to silver.”

“That’s… actually a fair point, yes. And something we should probably attempt to work out some day. Not more silver, but I mean, if there are other lingering effects than your pretty eyes.”

Peter’s mouth curved into half of a smile.

“I am glad you like them,” he said, “even though they are weird and creepy.”

“They’re not weird and creepy,” Lucian argued, “they can’t be, because they’re _yours_.”

“Aww,” Peter said, voice a little bit jokey, but his smile growing sincere.

He struggled to his knees, then turned around, leaning in to kiss Lucian, his hands slipping into his hair. It was strange to be involved in a kiss where one part had fangs, and that part was not him. Not unpleasant, but faintly jarring, like seeing a blurry picture of another person and needing a second or two to realise it’s not you.

“I think I’m ready to try again,” Peter announced as he pulled back, one hand lingering for a moment on the back of Lucian’s neck and leaving the most pleasant of shivers in its wake.

“Yeah? Still want me to demonstrate first?”

Peter’s mouth widened into a (fittingly) wolfish grin.

“Very much so,” he said, as he begun to unbutton Lucian’s shirt.

Lucian couldn’t help his amused smile.

“Do you think it will actually help or do you just want to get me naked?”

“Yes,” Peter replied.

“Flatterer.”

He let Peter finish the job, sliding the shirt from Lucian’s shoulders, leaning in to press a quick kiss to the base of Lucian’s throat. Then he rose, disrobing the rest of the way, and stood in front of Peter.

“You watching closely?” he asked.

“Extremely,” Peter said with a wink.

His eyes had gone back to their regular brown on white, now, and those eyes were also very pretty, Lucian thought, and currently roaming his body. Well. Time to make that body significantly less sexy, and more powerful.

Lucian concentrated, trying to pay attention to exactly what he was doing, so he could explain it properly to Peter later. It was difficult, though. As far as he could tell, he simply told his body that this was what he wanted it to do, and then it began to change and grow. Lucian tried to keep his eyes on Peter throughout the process, but his eyes changed and grew, moving to be slightly farther apart, and it was challenging.

When he was fully wolf shaped he stood before Peter towering over him, and tried to contort his canine features into something that expressed “See? Like that.”

Peter got to his feet, and went over to root through his pile of clothes. He pulled out his phone, fiddling with it, then holding it up to Lucian. 

“Not taking pictures of you, don’t worry. Just, have a look, right?”

And perhaps Peter had a point. Lucian had never really bothered to pay much attention to what his wolf shape looked like. Did it really matter? No. Could it still be worth paying attention to? Maybe.

It was not a pretty shape. Lycans in general weren’t, at least not by the standards of humans, and certainly not those of vampires. Sonja, he remembered, had not reacted in the slightest when she first saw him like this. Not other than to be amused at his reluctance to let her see him that way, at the idea that she, a death dealer, did not intimately know what a lycan looked like. She took his clawed paw in her delicate hand, and accepted him for all that he was. 

“A very handsome wolf, yes you are,” Peter was saying, looking like he was having just a little too much fun.

He, luckily, had already seen Lucian like this, had seen him like this before he saw his human shape, and Lucian was deeply grateful for that. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of it, he hadn’t been for centuries, not after he managed to unlearn all the self hatred Viktor had instilled in him. But he imagined bringing that up to Peter, showing him for the first time, when he had never seen a lycan change before. He imagined the fear in Peter’s eyes. No. Things had worked out well this way.

“I think I’m ready to try now,” Peter told him, leaning up to press a kiss to Lucian’s slightly furry cheek.

So Lucian let go of the wolf, compacting in on himself, shrinking, skin lightening and softening, fur retreating back into body hair. Face flattening into something almost entirely human. His eyes remained pale, and his teeth sharp. He was about to blink away those features too, when Peter held up a hand.

“Please keep the eyes? I think it might help, y’know, inspire me.”

Lucian shrugged. He accepted the phone Peter handed him, as it apparently had a much better camera than his own. Lucian couldn’t really see much of a difference, but had been firmly told that this, too, was because he was six centuries older than proper photography.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he told Peter.

It took him another twenty minutes, during which Lucian got impatient, sat down, and looked at Peter’s twitter, making fun of the late night thoughts he shared with tens of thousands of strangers, as well as his enthusiastic use of emojis. At last, though, something happened. Peter tensed, his fingers bending stiffly as they elongated, and his nails grew out into long claws. 

The process took more time for him than it did Lucian, the bodily changes drawn out, and, so, more unpleasant for the one going through them. His face contorted into pained grimaces as it pushed outwards into a muzzle, the skin turning rough and leathery, darkening to a charcoal grey. The fur that covered most of his body was a dark brown, not quite like that of any lycan Lucian had seen before. Not un-lycan-like, not impossible, but unique.

“Hey,” he said, “congratulations, Peter. I’m proud of you. Really proud, okay?”

Peter made a pleased little noise, crouching in front of Lucian, nudging his large face into Lucian’s. 

“You’re too sweet,” Lucian said, taking Peter’s head in his hands, feeling the texture of his skin, the unexpected softness of the fur there.

“Ready for your photoshoot?”


	27. April 16th, Las Vegas, Peter's Sofa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys are just having a nice time, that's it :)

“That’s fucking wild,” Peter said, frowning and zooming in further on the image taking up the screen of his tablet.

They were on the sofa in the penthouse, pressed tightly together, Peter almost in Lucian’s lap, and their legs intertwined. Lucian had insisted that Peter waited, and went home before he got to look at the photos of himself. Hadn’t wanted him to freak out in an environment that didn’t feel totally safe, he’d said. Which, now that he was seeing the actual photos of the thing that he had apparently become earlier in the afternoon, Peter could almost understand.

“I think you make a very handsome wolf,” Lucian said, and kissed his neck, just above where the scar from his bite was.

“I can’t believe I looked like this. It’s- I mean it’s one thing to feel it, it feels weirdly natural as soon as the actual turning is done, but- I had fur. And claws. And my face was all weird.”

“That is a side effect of being a lycan,” Lucian agreed.

Peter leaned back so his head rested on Lucian’s shoulder, and closed his eyes. He felt Lucian’s arms lock around his waist, and Lucian’s lips against his forehead.

“God this is so fucking weird.”

“That’s an understandable reaction,” Lucian told him.

“I’m not- this isn’t me being mad about you turning me, just me being really fucking weirded out by looking at this.”

“I know,” Lucian reassured him, “it’s why I wanted to wait to have you look at them. I do also think, though, that if you want to keep these you should print them out, and then delete them from your devices. Don’t want to accidentally send it to someone.”

Peter hummed his agreement.

“Probably smart, yeah. Could just say I was thinking of including werewolves in my show, though.”

“You could,” Lucian said, “but I don’t think it’s a connection you want to invite. Not unless you have to. The average fan might not put two and two together, but as we’ve seen, some vampires are quite technologically aware. And there are other human hunters, too. And, and again, I am sorry about this, but you’re their target now, not their colleague. Most don’t care what creatures they kill, as long as it’s not human.”

“Oh.”

Peter hadn’t considered this. Hadn’t really truly considered the possibility of there being other monster hunters out there, not real ones. But of course, vampires preyed on humans, and for all the victims who simply became unexplained murder victims, surely there must be others like him, unfortunate survivors. Who decided to fight back. And undoubtedly the same was true of victims of lycans, though they didn’t really prey on humans in the same way.

“Have you met many?” he asked, turning his face so it was pressed into the side of Lucian’s neck, his long hair falling into his face.

“A few,” Lucian said, “though in Eastern Europe there are fewer than you would expect. I suppose our fighting each other for centuries has, perhaps, scared people away. There was a surge, of course, at the very end of the 19th century, especially in Transylvania. But by then we were mostly based in Budapest anyway, as the vampires had taken back Castle Corvinus centuries earlier. Early 1400s.”

“That was the castle you grew up in, yeah? In the Carpathian mountains?”

“Yes. Made a deal with a vampire, who had come to kill me. Cut off the branded bit of my skin and gave to him, so he could get the fame and glory, and I could pretend I was dead, avoid hunters. Which worked quite nicely, at least until 2003. But these last ten years, travelling the world, I’ve met quite a few human hunters. Sometimes while hunting the same vampires. And a few of them realised what I was, which was… unfortunate.”

“What happened?”

“The usual. They tried to kill me, and, having failed, I killed them. If I let them live they would simply have followed me.”

Peter considered this for a moment, his hands finding Lucian where they rested against Peter’s stomach. 

“Ever consider turning them?”

He felt Lucian turn his head to look down at him.

“And make them superpowered self hating monster hunters? No. And you know I don’t do it to people against their will.”

“Other than me.”

“Other than the person who is very close to my heart and whose death I did not think I could deal with, whom I wanted to give, if nothing else, the opportunity to live or die as they pleased, and to whom I’ve been apologising for this several times a day for five weeks.”

Peter smiled against his skin.

“So I’m special.”

“Extremely, yes.”

Peter squirmed, trying, somehow, to get closer to Lucian, basking in his affection like it was the only thing he needed. It certainly felt like it was, right now. 

“To be honest,” Lucian begun, “I’m surprised you haven’t been contacted by actual vampire hunters. You do seem to be an expert by human standards. And all the corresponding with experts in folklore and such.”

“Oh, a few people have hit me up, yeah, but I didn’t think they were, you know, actually stupid enough to go and fight real life vampires alone.”

“Unlike yourself?”

“Fuck off. Yes. Unlike me. And I’ll have you know I did kill three of them without any supernatural help and only got bitten by like seven of them.”

Lucian tightened his grip around him in something vaguely like a hug.

“And I am sure you did terribly well against them. Still, if if I hadn’t been there the day we met…”

“I’d be dead, yeah. Or undead. Which, nope, absolutely not. Being this, being… being like you, that’s different. ‘S good. Weird as fuck, yeah, but… I don’t need to eat people, I have super healing, won’t age, and have a really hot boyfriend. I’ll get used to turning into a huge wolf monster eventually.”

“You had me before, too, you know,” Lucian reminded him.

“I know,” Peter said, only the faintest trace of smugness in his voice.

“I am glad that you’re feeling a little better about your newfound lycanity.”

“Lycanity?”

“Like humanity. But lycan.”

“Oh my god, Lucian.”

“What?” Lucian demanded, like nothing was wrong, like he didn’t sound like a fucking idiot.

Shit. Peter might really actually love him. That was a scary thought. Actually genuinely love this ridiculous and extremely hot wolf man who had been nothing but kind to him, had done nothing but save his life, and then had to deal with Peter’s rage at him, and still had been only supportive and kind. Who saw Peter not only for the persona he had invented for the stage, nor just as a sad fucked up man who had never outgrown his childhood trauma. 

“Yeah,” Peter said, to distract himself from this jarring realisation, “yeah. Been thinking about it. Not all bad, like I said. S’pose not getting older’s a pretty sweet deal. Visually, at least, physically. Were it up to me I might’ve stopped a bit earlier, though. Thirty was good, maybe there.”

“No,” Lucian said, quite decisively, “you’re perfect right now. And forever.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. This is what you looked like when I met you. So. Perfect.”

And cheesy as it was, Lucian’s words made Peter’s heart ache, made him want to do something undefineable about all these feelings. If he didn’t, it might explode. He didn’t know what it might be, though, other than to remind right where he was, in Lucian’s arms. Safe. Feeling loved. It was not a combination he was particularly familiar with, but god if he didn’t want it to stay like this for the rest of time.

“What was it like?” he asked instead, wriggling downwards until his head was resting against Lucian’s chest, feeling curled hair through thin fabric, feeling the soothing steady beat of his heart.

“What was what like?”

“Experiencing the future. You know, growing up in the dark ages, then living through the invention of all of modern technology. Was it weird? Going from having your people seen as a myth to a popular movie monster. Stopping being a frightening a reality and being turned to fiction and learning just how badly humans seem to want to fuck vampires?”

“Our people now,” Lucian pointed out, his hand finding it’s way into Peter’s hair and oh, that felt so very good.

“But yes. It’s been, as you would say, a wild fucking few centuries.”

Peter laughed.

“You’re cute when you try to talk like a normal person.”

“I liked it better when we were myths, I think,” Lucian said, ignoring Peter but continuing to pet his fingers through his hair, “but we were absolutely just recognised as real too. In the early days, before both species went underground. The vampires would act as sort of… They would take payments from the humans, in return for not feeding on them, and for hunting the lycans. The more… feral of our brethren. The ones who could not return to human form.”

“Like your mum.”

“Like, presumably, my mother, yes. But that could never last. The humans were too many, and taking over too fast. And no, before you ask, we couldn’t just turn them all. Both lycan and vampire bites have something like a 90% fatality rate.”

Peter frowned.

“Hold on. Hold on, Lucian. So you’re saying, when you bit me, you might as well have killed me?”

“Well, yes. But Peter, you were already dying. You weren’t going to survive that shot, no matter if there had been a hospital next door. It was worth a try. Besides, you had already survived a vampire bite, albeit one from a different kind of vampire, so I thought it likely you would be able to survive mine too.”

“Huh,” Peter said.

“And I was, clearly, right.”

“Or lucky.”

“Definitely lucky,” Lucian agreed, and Peter looked up into his face and there was such fondness there that he didn’t know how to deal with it.

So he closed his eyes, leaning into Lucian’s chest again. Moved his leg from under Lucian’s so it would stop falling asleep on him. Slipped a hand under the fabric of the t-shirt Lucian had borrowed from Peter, and which was just a tiny bit tight on him, emphasising his muscles. But there was softness, too, to Lucian. So much, after all, of his power lay in his nature, not in his current physical form. Which added up to his chest being an incredibly comfortable place.

“I am too, I think,” Peter murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all need just some nice cozy fluff and people realising feelings in these dark and paranoid times


	28. April 20th, 2013, Vegas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frankly just some more fluff while I plot the next bit

**From: blaidd_da@gmail.com  
To: l0n3w0lf@gmail.com**

Luna, I would appreciate it if you, in the future, would check with me before divulging details of my scientific endeavours.

**From: l0n3w0lf@gmail.com  
To: blaidd_da@gmail.com**

Sorry! I assumed new pack members were to be trusted, or I wouldn’t have said anything! Hope everything turned out okay!

Sincerely,  
Luna

**From: blaidd_da@gmail.com  
To: l0n3w0lf@gmail.com**

It did, but it was a ...rough few days. And do try not to get too specific about things. Never know when the enemy will learn what hacking is, or infiltrate google.

**From: l0n3w0lf@gmail.com  
To: blaidd_da@gmail.com**

I don’t think that’s too likely, but I will. Btw! Peter said you two were dating??? I thought he was just a new recruit! I’m so happy for the two of you!!! :D :D :D (It was about time, boss)

Sincerely,  
Luna

**From: blaidd_da@gmail.com  
To: l0n3w0lf@gmail.com**

...I’m going to need to have a talk with him about cyber security. He is not the most… discreet of people. But yes. You know, the problem with being a pack spread across continents is that’s much harder to fire a shotgun in the air to establish dominance across an ocean and several time zones.

**From: l0n3w0lf@gmail.com  
To: blaidd_da@gmail.com**

He’s a performer in Vegas, were you expecting subtlety?

Sincerely,  
Luna

**From: blaidd_da@gmail.com  
To: l0n3w0lf@gmail.com **

...Fair enough.

-

Lucian was in Peter’s living room. He was alone. Peter was doing a show, and Lucian had seen a few of them now, and they were mostly the same each time, so he felt no particular need to see one more. He did enjoy the aftermaths of them, though. Peter swaggering into the room, shedding the costume pieces bit by bit. That was always nice.

This was the third day in a row he was staying here without even briefly going back to his own place. He had brought his laptop with him, for vampire tracking, and he had his arm mounted blade, for slicing up any he might find. There was one he had located, which he thought he might bring Peter along to hunt down the following night. Not tonight, though. Much as he felt he needed a fight, and as big of a menace to human society the vampire would be able to be for an additional 24 hours, he needed one night more to psych himself up. To be able to trust that he had managed to teach Peter enough, that his bite had given him enough power. And it shouldn’t be a problem, not really. He was, after all, the original lycan, and those bitten by him the ones could get closest to him in strength. The knowledge didn’t keep him from worrying.

Lucian checked his phone. 21:35. Still at least half an hour until Peter was back. Too long. 

By now he was quite familiar with the armoury and/or museum of weapons and artefacts Peter had collected, but he found himself going back to it. The weapons which had been out in the desert when Peter was kidnapped were lost. Whatever the vampire did with them, they were nowhere to be found. But there were some here still. A silvered stake blessed by some saint or other. For the religious vampires, Lucian assumed, who cared about such things. Human religion meant nothing to the ones he had known. At least not after the first few years of being turned. The knowledge of magic and monsters usually made them doubt, then, realising they would need to feast on blood, and that the sun was now their doom, they concluded they were no longer headed to their preferred afterlife. It was funny how quickly they stopped believing in any of it, after that. There was also the fact, of course, that they had become immortal, and once death was optional, the belief in an afterlife no longer seemed as necessary.

-

 **Charley:** hey Peter what happened? With the werewolf? You’re still alive, otherwise I would have heard I’m pretty sure.

 **Charley:** Also please stop implying Amy’s still a vampire, it was a really traumatic event for her.

 **Peter:** Charley boy. Hey… A bunch of shit happened! A bunch of real weird fucking shit, but I am alive and still dating the hot werewolf.

 **Peter:** & my apologies to Amy, but she’s the only 1 of jerrys victims whose contact info I had. & its not unreasonable to worry about whether there r any after effects. Im the expert remember.

 **Peter:** all im saying is if she needs to talk about it w. any1 who also went through it, if for a shorter time, she can hmu, ye?

Peter clicked his phone shut and leaned back against the mirrored wall of the lift. Fuck. He was going to have to deal with this at some point. This was, after all, where Charley and Amy were from. They were going to keep returning here. They were, eventually, going to notice.

He should have kept his stupid fucking mouth shut. But no, no of course not, he had to tell the kid amateur monster hunter that he was dating a werewolf. And sure, yes, Charley was one of the three people in the world with whom he could freely discuss the supernatural, so who the fuck else would he have had to turn to? His therapist with more convoluted metaphors? No. But god, he did need to talk about his feelings to someone whom they did not directly affect. Now he had the European lycan, whose name he had already forgotten, he'd mentioned the situation to her, and she had been very excited. It had been a while, apparently, since Lucian had had any close relations with anyone, even by the standards of immortals.

The doors of the lift slid open. He would deal with this later.

Lucian came around the corner, dressed in a pair of Peter's joggers, which were a little too long and a little too tight on him. He had not bothered with a shirt.

"Good show?" he asked, leaning against the doorway, silhouetted by the light.

His long hair was pulled back, secured into a bun at the back of his head, and Peter made a note of this being an extremely good look.

"Was fine," he told him, leaning in for a kiss.

Fuck, it was kind of magical having someone to come home to. Whose face lit up at Peter's appearance, whose hands slid around his waist under his coat, pulling him close till they were chest to chest, their hearts mere centimeters apart. When they broke for air, Lucian rested his head on Peter's shoulder, leaning into him.

"Missed me that badly, huh? It's only been a few hours."

"Mhmm," Lucian agreed, "but it feels weird being here without you."

"I hope it won't, soon. Feel weird, I mean."

"Why?" Lucian asked, pulling back to look at him, "are you planning on being away?"

"What? No, because I want you to be here so much it'll feel natural, dipshit. It's... It's really really nice to... to come home to, well, to you."

Lucian smiled at him, only fond this time, no amusement.

"Not that... I mean, I'm not asking you to move in, it's weird and too early and whatever, but I really like you here. You staying. Fuck, you know what I mean."

Lucian raised his eyebrows, looking at him in an approximation of earnest confusion.

"I'm not sure I do, Peter. I think I might need you to explain, in detail, exactly how much you like having me here. Use examples and references. If you could provide visual aides, that would be appreciated."

Peter groaned, and Lucian looked terribly pleased with himself. He tried to kiss the smugness away, and succeeded, sliding his fingers into Lucian's hair, tugging strands loose, just hard enough, pressing into Lucian until he moaned.  
“I’m going to have to leave you here more often if this is how you get,” Peter told him, not quite managing to hide a smug grin.

“Absolutely not,” Lucian protested, “but on another note, do you need any help getting out of your costume?”

He started to slide the coat off Peter’s shoulders, and he let him. 

“But. But. Much as I’m enjoying where this is going, I’m feeling pretty sweaty and disgusting right now, so I’m gonna take a shower before we get up to anything more, yeah?”

Lucian looked just a little bit disappointed.

“Although, I could make it a bath instead, if you’d want to join me?”

-

Lucian frowned at the contents of the bathtub. Well, some of them, anyway. Not Peter. Peter was good. Peter was very naked, only the half washed of fake tattoos on his neck and chest remaining of his costume, as well as a single fake side burn which he had apparently forgotten, and which looked quite ridiculous. No, it was the bath part that was puzzling him.

“I don’t understand why the water is black and glittery,” he said, “this seems counter-intuitive for getting clean.”

“It’s a bath bomb, old man, are you ever going to join us in the twenty first century?”

Lucian sniffed it. It smelled vaguely fruity and spicy.

“In my time, the water was black when you got out of it. Well, when you were lucky enough to get a bath, anyway. Mostly you just sort of rubbed away the worst of the soot and grime.”

“Just get in, wolf boy,” Peter said with a roll of messily lined eyes.

Lucian did, gingerly stepping into the very hot, very black and very sparkly water, folding himself down, settling with his back against Peter’s chest.

“But what is the actual purpose of it? Why is it black? Won’t it just require us to take another bath after the first one? And why the glitter?”

Peter groaned.

“It’s called self care! It’s because it feels nice! It smells good, it lets you disappear into a black warm void.”

“...It still seems unnecessary.”

Peter sighed, and Lucian felt the brush of his lips against the back of his neck, hands rubbing his shoulders. It did feel quite nice.

“I know your whole deal is like, hedonism is for our evil vampiric overlords, but it’s okay to take care of yourself. To do stuff for no other reason than that it feels nice.”

Lucian squinted at the crumpled paper bag that lay on the rim of the tub.

“You paid ten dollars for dirty water?”

“ _Self care_ ,” Peter insisted.

Lucian leaned his head back against him, the hand on his shoulders moving, coming to rest around his side. One of them moved lower, brushing light touches over Lucian’s cock.

“I might be able to be convinced if you continue this demonstration,” Lucian murmured, and he didn’t so much see Peter’s self satisfied grin as feel it.

Long clever fingers locked around him, and it didn’t take long until he felt himself harden in their grasp. He felt something similar happen to Peter, his cock poking into the small of his back, the angle wrong for anything more fitting.

“I’m glad you’re closer to seeing the light,” Peter said, voice soft and surprisingly gentle.

His hand was too, all long languid strokes that were perfect, were so good, but never quite enough. Lucian found himself moving his hips in minute thrusts, trying to find just a little bit more friction. And okay. He slightly saw the point, now. Despite how much he would love to see Peter’s elegant hand wrapped around him, there was something to feeling everything without seeing, too. When he looked up at Peter, two black eyes looked back at him. It was almost embarrassing how much that did it for him, and clearly Peter could tell, because his lips parted in a fanged grin. Despite the circumstances, Lucian currently felt very, very good about having turned Peter.

Peter moved, adjusting so he had a slightly better angle, and Lucian made a sort of high pitched whining noise as he increased his speed. He kissed the parts of Peter he could reach without twisting his neck to much; the base of his throat, up along his jaw, hands grasping at Peter deep in the dark water, wanting to move, wanting to do _something_ to get just a little closer to his orgasm, but not quite finding a way.

He writhed against Peter, thrusting into his hand as much as their position allowed. When he bit down on his bottom lip he tasted blood, and realised his fangs had grown out entirely without his noticing. Pale blue eyes met completely black ones, and Peter leaned in to capture his lips in a kiss, doing something extremely good with the angle of his hand, and Lucian’s orgasm hit him without warning.

A bath, Lucian thought, was an ideal place for coming down from an orgasm. Warm, soft, and, okay, slightly less clean than it had been moments before, but the water was black so it was difficult to see. A warm chest against his back, soft kisses to his cheek and temple. Something hard nudging persistently against his back.

“I’m starting to see your point,” he told Peter.

“I’m glad. But you know, I feel I’ve lost faith a little myself…”

Lucian laughed.

“So impatient.”

He lifted Peter’s hand from the water, pressing a kiss to the back of it, and immediately regretting it as tiny flecks of glitter invaded his mouth.

“Always,” Peter promised.

“What about this. We stay in the very nice warm water for a few more minutes, then shower all this glitter off of us, and then, in the bedroom, I would quite like you inside of me. Good compromise?”

“...Acceptable,” Peter agreed, his voice sounding slightly choked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on google translate and my 20 day streak of welsh on duolingo, Lucian's email address should be like. 4 distinct jokes/references in one.  
> Also, I know I have some... more american ways of phrasing things slip into Peter's dialogue, but let's be real, man's been living there a decade. It's probably a little bit contagious.


	29. April 21st, 2013, A Distant Suburb Of Las Vegas, Assuming Vegas Has Suburbs, I Forgot To Check, Mea Culpa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On The Hunt

They went together, this time, in Peter's car, to the house out on the edge of a suburb. It stood far enough from it's neighbours that noise ought not to be the biggest problem, and the streets seemed deserted this time of night. It reminded Peter eerily of the house in which Jerry had made his nest, though this was likely more due to a lack of inventive architecture and city planning than any real sort of connection. It wasn't even the same sort of vampire, according to Lucian, who, while admitting he didn't quite recognise it, was pretty sure it was an American strain.

"It doesn't seem to feed according to any pattern I'm familiar with," Lucian said, looking at the print outs of what seemed like it belonged in a police report.

Peter didn't ask how he'd gotten it. It wasn't as if the cops were going to solve this one. Not that they had found the house, no, that was all Lucian. Well, the nose part of him, anyway. Peter, since his turning, had mostly the same abilities as Lucian, of course, but not the experience to use them. Smell, for example, was weird. It was like someone had turned his olfactory senses up by 50, but not told him what to do about it. There was so much information in the air all the time, and Peter had so far mostly learned to tune it out. Lucian promised he would get used to it. Eventually.

"No? What's weird about it, then?"

"The wound is just a single hole, half a centimeter in diameter, and yet the remains are completely exsanguinated. Drained."

"I know scholars on this shit, Lucian. I know what exsanguinated means."

"Sorry," Lucian murmured, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek.

They sat in his car, parked about a hundred meters from the house, beneath the one blown out street light. Just in range of seeing if there was any movement. They had been there nearly an hour.

"Do you feel ready?" Lucian asked, shuffling the papers into a loose pile and contorting himself to put them in the back seat.

"Oh, about as much as the last fifteen times you asked."

Lucian looked entirely unapologetic.

"I just want to make sure. First time as a lycan, first hunt in months. I worry about you."

"Don't," Peter insisted, "I'll be fine, I promise! There's only supposed to be one of them, yeah? We'll kill it good."

"You seem to be taking this very lightly."

Peter swore, ran a hand through his already messy hair. This was the third iteration of this conversation they had had today.

"I'm not, all right? I'm... it's just the way I talk, I'm taking this seriously. I know the vampire is a serious threat, and I know there might be victims. And I do know, clearly, that many, if not all, vampires used to be human. Believe it or not, I can empathise."

This last point he emphasised a little too much, judging by the guilt that flashed across Lucian's face.

"It's gonna be fine, is what I'm saying. We're ready. You trained me well, much taller and less green Yoda."

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh my god Lucian."

"Kidding. I am familiar with the war of the stars," Lucian reassured him, but in a tone that left Peter unsure whether he was fucking with him or not.

"Hey, look!" It wasn't much, nothing anyone not watching closely would have noticed, but Peter had seen a faint movement, a shadow passing in front of the faint light peeking out between what were likely heavy black out curtains.

"Let's get ready," Lucian said, shoving his sleeve aside and releasing the blade strapped there, inspecting it, and sliding it back into its place.

"When do I get one of those?"

"For your five hundredth birthday."

Peter crossed his arms.

"Unfair. Unfair and terrible. What about the sword you hinted about forging for me? Four hundred?"

"Oh, no, nothing so bad. Your fiftieth maybe? That's not so far off."

Peter groaned.

"Worst boyfriend," he grumbled.

Lucian leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

"Guilty. But come on. Get your gear."

They sneaked around, walking in a big circle until they could come at the house from the back. Peter had looked at some floor plans for house listings in the area, and figured out which most likely fit their target, and he was pretty sure there should be a back door. As they got closer, they heard loud music pumping through what were at best medium quality speakers. Not loud enough to disturb neighbours, at least unless they were outside, but loud enough that Peter recognised the song as something poppy from the nineties, though he could quite remember the name. He and Lucian exchanged baffled glances.

The music was, at least, a convenient cover, and Lucian picked the lock on the back door with ease. He motioned for Peter to follow him, and they headed into the dark house.

Inside it was dark, though a light was coming from under the door to the living room. That was where the music seemed to be emanating from too. Lucian gestured for Peter to stay there, while he, as planned, would come at the room from the other direction, effectively flanking the vampire, leaving them less room to run.

Peter adjusted his grip on the stake he had brought. He also had the shotgun with the sharpened wooden shells slung over his shoulder, and a pair of daggers hung in their sheaths from his belt. He was ready, wasn't he? Throughout their day planning this hunt he had spent so much time reassuring Lucian that he was that he hadn't stopped to think whether it was actually true. It felt true. Mostly.

He checked his watch. Twenty seconds. Okay. Deep breath. Ten seconds. Five. Time.

He wrenched the door open, and saw Lucian do the same on the other side of the largeish room. Peter froze. Lucian froze. The vampire in the centre of the room froze, eyes wide and bright red. The victim, who had been held up by the vampire, thunked wetly against the floor.

It looked male, if gender meant anything to bloodsucking monsters. It also looked like, perhaps, it had been turned in the late nineties or early 2000s, when fashion was at its worst. Peter knew. He was young, then. He had lived it.

The vampire was wearing bright colours, neon bright, and entirely out of style. Their hair, dark red, curled, was styled in a sort of fluffy mohawk situation, and they were draining the blood from an unconscious human on the floor through a bright yellow straw. Which, okay, that explained the lack of proper bite marks, he supposed.

The victim was a man who looked to be in his forties, entirely average looking. The straw was sticking out of his neck, and now the vampire's lips had left it blood was dribbling slowly from the tip. There was a discarded syringe on the carpet next to the victim. Well. At least this vampire had the decency to knock you out before eating you, instead of finding their joy in your terror, unlike some.

The song, which was coming from a portable CD-player perched precariously on the arm of the sofa, changed, and it was like time caught up with them again. The vampire looked between Lucian and Peter.

"This... isn't what it looks like?"

There was a soft groan from the victim, and the vampire nudged him with an obnoxiously lime green sneaker.

"Quiet, you," they muttered.

"And... what is this, then? Advanced larping? You using that straw to put blood back into him?" Peter demanded, despite Lucian's gesturing at him to stay silent from behind the vampire.

"That's it exactly," the vampire said, "saving this dude's life. Nothing sinister happening here. You two..."

The vampire sniffed the air, frowning at Peter.

"Werewolves, huh? Werewolf hunters. Bit hypocritical? Shouldn't we be on the same side, monsters united? I'm sure there's a union somewhere. Well, probably not here in the US. But somewhere."

Lucian was looking defeated, this was clearly not the stealthy attack he had intended. Peter slid the stake gun from his shoulder, directing it at the vampire.

"Is there anything I could do to persuade you not to use that thing?"

The vampire sounded almost resigned, which made Peter feel significantly less comfortable. No. Nope. Having a personality, seeming like a regular guy, that wasn't an excuse. Just because he didn't act like a movie monster didn't mean his victims were any less dead, their families less bereaved. Just because he didn’t seem to revel in the cruelty didn’t mean the consequences of it were lessened.

"What if I told you he was a nazi?"

"Was he?"

The vampire shrugged.

"Didn't ask.”

“I’d just really like for you guys not to kill me. I mean, you seem chill. Ish. For hunters, anyway,” the vampire said, grinning nervously, displaying bloodied fangs.

“Understandable, but we can’t let you keep killing people,” Peter told him, taking a slow step closer, and evidently getting closer to the light, because the vampire frowned up at him, grin returning.

“Oh my god, are you Peter Vincent? Oh what the fuck, you’re a real hunter now? And a werewolf? Is your show like, the worlds worst cover story?”

“Hey!” Peter protested.

“No, no, the vampire’s got a point,” Lucian muttered.

“I’m gonna get killed by fucking Peter Vincent, jesus christ. I feel like I should live stream this.”

“Oh absolutely not,” Peter said, raising the shotgun to aim at the vampire’s heart.

The vampire held his hands in the air in surrender, but then, cruelly, while Peter’s attention was elsewhere, kicked the CD-player, which hit Peter’s knee, knocking him off balance. The vampire lunged for the window, clearly intending to break through and make his escape, but Lucian was quicker. He lashed out, releasing the hidden blade, and sliced the vampire’s head clean off.

The body and head thudded against the floor, old, nearly black blood seeping slowly from the wounds, staining the shaggy carpet. The CD was skipping, playing the same few notes over and over again. Peter bent down, and tugged the cord free from the socket, immersing them in a deafening silence.

“...I don’t feel good about this,” Peter said, looking at Lucian, at the blood that streaked his blade.

Lucian sighed.

“Had to be done. It’s not something to do for the joy of it.”

“Yeah.”

Peter knelt down next to the victim, from whose throat the straw still protruded. He placed two fingers against his throat, but Lucian shook his head.

“He stopped breathing two minutes ago. It’s too late.”

“Oh,” Peter said, feeling defeated.

-

Peter seemed quiet on the ride back. They had cleaned it up fairly quickly, and gotten rid off the vampire’s body. No use in letting some medical examiner have the scientific discovery of the millennium. Peter had wanted to try to find some info on the family of the victim, but Lucian had cautioned him against it. The neighbours would complain about the smell eventually, or the house would go on the market, and someone would find him in not too long. And what was he going to do, anyway? Call them up and say hey, I found the guy and killed his murderer? No. Getting involved wasn’t part of this, and the sooner Peter learned this the better.

“You okay?” he asked, for the third time, as Peter drove them down into the underground garage.

“Yeah, fine,” Peter said distractedly, which Lucian took to mean no.

He was not without sympathy, but he was, probably, a little more jaded. Everyone who got killed was a person, that was just how it was. Vampires and werewolves weren’t the mindless monsters of movies, though that would have made being a hunter easier, nor were they pure evil. They were simply creatures who fed on humans, and who didn’t know or care to find non-lethal ways of doing so. Or who considered the loss of human life a minor issue, ethically speaking, so long as they managed to keep their bellies full of blood.

When they got back to Peter’s penthouse, he headed straight for the bar. Not surprising, but not ideal. He got two glasses and a bottle of overpriced flavoured vodka, setting them on the table by the sofa, flinging himself down onto it with the drama of an Oscar Wilde character. His eyeliner was significantly more smudged than it had been when they got into the car. Lucian settled next to him, pulling him into a hug.

“I’ll make sure the next one is a proper monster,” he promised, “as horror film villain as they get.”

“It’s not that,” Peter murmured against Lucian’s chest, but he slid an arm around him without elaborating further.

“You thought it would feel good?”

“Kind of? Like it would feel like bringing their victims to justice, but we didn’t. We just left the body there. That guy was the same age my folks were, when… When they were killed. What if he had kids, Lucian? Kids who wonder where their dad went and then he just never comes back?”

“I understand,” Lucian told him, trying for a soothing voice, and stroking Peter’s hair, “but there was nothing we could have done that wouldn’t eventually lead the police back to us. I imagine they’ll have your prints on file already.”

“...Might have,” Peter muttered.

“So you see, that’s why we clean up, remove all traces of the supernatural. Ourselves included.”

“I know,” Peter said, with a groan.

He shuffled himself clumsily out of Lucian’s arms, and poured two generous glasses.

“To the victims,” he said, and downed half of it before Lucian had a chance to agree or lift his glass.

They drank in relative quiet for a little while, both staring into space, Lucian leaning his head on Peter’s shoulder.

“Do you want to tell me about them?”

“Hmm?” Peter asked through another mouthful of vodka.

“Your parents. They seem like they were on your mind. Not… Not about what happened to them, just about who they were.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, “yeah all right.”

He took another drink, and put his arm around Lucian’s shoulder. Stared into space like he was watching a film of his memories.

“Mum was a librarian. She’d wanted to be a writer, you know, but it never quite happened. Had me before she really got into it, and apparently I was a bit of a handful as a kid.”

“Hard to picture,” Lucian quipped.

“Very funny. Look, shut up, I’m telling the story here. Anyway. She was like, 24, just finished uni, when she met my dad, and he knocked her up. Wasn’t planned, but I think they were happy enough about it. He was trying to get into finance, but it didn’t pan out. Ended up selling insurance or something, I can’t quite remember. Wasn’t so child friendly a job as mum had. She’d take me with her sometimes, to help out. Which was challenging, as I was quite loud. Got me into reading lots of fantasy books, though. Spooky stories. Let me sit in on all the reading things for kids there. Even let me do some when I got older, when I had learned to read properly. I’d do voices and act it out and everything. If yelp had been a thing in the eighties I’d have gotten the local library great reviews.”

Peter was smiling now, talking about it, remembering. Lucian congratulated himself on a good plan well executed, and pressed a kiss to Peter’s shoulder.

“Neither of them got on with their parents, which I imagine is why none of my grandparents wanted to take me in, after. Or maybe they just didn’t want a crazy grandchild who kept going on about monsters. Which I suppose is fair enough. They’re dead now, so I can’t ask them. But it was good, you know? I think they were mostly good parents. Bit young and clueless, but then I imagine everyone is, at first. I think I had a good childhood. You know, before… Before.”

“It sounds nice. They sound nice,” Lucian told him, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze.

“Oh, shit, is this- Is this weird cause you never knew yours?”

“No, Peter. I asked you, remember? Just- keep telling me. I can’t know what it was like, but I can know how it felt for you, yeah?”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am,” Lucian assured him, “go on.”

“Okay so, there was this one time, this event for kids at the library, right, and I was helping to plan it...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As someone who lost one of their parents nearly nineteen years ago now I can say from experience it's something you never really get over, and so I imagine that goes doubly for when it's something more dramatic than alcoholism induced heart failure, and also both parents, and like. Vampire murder.  
> Also, just wanted to put my vampire oc in this chapter. Seemed a shame not to, as I have one. He's less murdery in his own canon. Very much a bloodbank robber. But I do enjoy the idea of drinking someone through a straw. For comedy reasons. His best friend and flatmate is a bisexual werewolf.


	30. April 23rd, 2013, Vegas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lycans making out, interrupted

Lucian leaned into Peter, hands planted firmly on his ass, his lips on Peter’s throat, just the slight hint of fangs grazing sensitive skin. Peter ran his hands up Lucian’s sides, shoving his shirt out of the way, pressing him closer, every inch of their skin not touching feeling like a waste. He was just about to suggest they move to the bedroom, or at the very least the sofa, when he heard the doors to the lift slide open, and-

“Hey, Peter, we’re- oh! Sorry!”

Peter let go of Lucian, reluctantly, and whirled around.

“Charley! Amy! Hey, what- what are you kids doing here?”

The young couple looked much as they had when last he’d seen them. They had left for uni that autumn, and had actually come by to say goodbye to him then. He’d felt it was kind of touching. Briefly he had imagined that he would become some sort of cool young uncle figure to them, but they both seemed quite responsible for their age, and not all that easy to corrupt. Besides, they were going to uni. They would learn to party. Probably. Right now, though, they were staring, wide eyed, at Lucian.

“What?” Peter demanded, “I know this is the US, but I didn’t think you two would be judgemental?”

A second passed, and Peter thought to turn.

“Oh. Yes. Right.”

Pale blue eyes met his, a look of discomfort and regret on Lucian’s face. He swallowed. Frowned and closed his eyes for a moment. When they opened again they were back to hazel.

“I did… I feel like I told you? I might’ve just thought about doing so. Anyway, hey. Yeah. Lucian; Amy, Charley. Amy, Charley; Lucian.”

“You told them?” Lucian hissed, giving him a look that communicated that they would be having A Talk about this later.

“Nice to meet you,” he added, smiling at the visitors, now with a hundred percent less fangs.

“You too,” Amy said, her bright smile slightly undercut with obvious fear.

“Aww, come on, look. He’s fine. Good. Safe. Doesn’t eat people at all!”

Lucian looked distinctly uncomfortable. As did Charley and Amy. It really was up to him to do all the hard work here, huh.

“Come in, come in, can I get you kids a drink? What do you say, Charley boy, up for it?”

“...We’re still not twenty one yet,” Amy said.

“No? What’s that got to do with it?”

“It’s… the legal drinking age?”

Peter glanced at Lucian, who nodded.

“Really? Wow, that is… And you just accept that?”

“Peter,” Lucian began, a hand on his shoulder, “you’ve lived here for ten years. Maybe some coffee?”

This last was directed to the younger couple, who nodded politely that they would like that, and Lucian, sensing what was best, headed off in the direction of the kitchen. The relief on the young peoples’ faces was, frankly, quite insulting. Still, Peter would probably have been worried if he had been in their place, too.

“So,” he said, gesturing at the arm chairs positioned to look out at the city below, “what brings you two here? I have to say, I’m a little surprised to see you. Summer holidays still a little ways off, yeah?”

Charley looked at him, confusion clear on his face.

“I emailed you,” he said, looking to Amy as if for confirmation, “I emailed you and we had a whole conversation? You said it would be nice to see us again?”

“And it is! Absolutely. When, uh, did this exchange take place, if you’ll remind me?”

“Like three weeks ago.”

“Ah, well! That’s ancient history, that is. And Lucian and I were… going through a bit of a rough patch, so I was a little… distracted. Still! Glad to see you both. I do hope you’re doing well!”

“That’s nice,” Amy said, “but we came because we have an issue with a vampire. Well, not us, personally, but our old neighbourhood?”

“Yeah,” Charley added, giving Amy a grateful look, “my mom was talking about some stuff she’d heard people talking about, saying how it reminded her of the stuff that happened in 2011 a little bit. And you, very enthusiastically, agreed to help, saying you were very much in the mood for killing some monsters.”

Lucian, with his impeccable sense of timing, walked in just as Charley got to the last part. Fortunately, lycan hearing was excellent, and so Peter felt sure that he had heard the context, but seeing the embarrassment on the two young people’s faces was pretty funny.

“Coffee?” He offered, handing the two of them mugs before disappearing back.

“Don’t worry,” Peter told them, “he hunts vampires too. It was how we met.”

“How… romantic.”

“It was,” Peter insisted, disregarding the doubt in Charley’s voice, “he saved me from being eaten by a vampire.”

“So you’ve been actively going after them, now? After you so adamantly refused to help me?”

“Oh, that’s unfair. I did help, didn’t I? Gave you the stake to save your girl. And came to help and got nibbled on by a bunch of vampires to the point where the sun was about to set me on fire.”

“Eventually you came to help.”

“Eeeh, let’s not split hairs. Jerry was killed, Amy was saved, we all contributed. That’s the important part, yeah? Oh, thank you.”

He accepted the mug Lucian placed in his hands, and gave him a smile.

“You’re the best boyfriend.”

“I am,” Lucian agreed solemnly, just the slightest twitch of his eye betraying amusement.

“So,” he said, looking at the two humans watching him with polite wariness, “you’ve come to get our help to hunt a vampire, is that it?”

“Yeah,” Charlie replied, eyes darting between the two of them, “well, Peter’s help originally, but if you… I don’t know-”

“I’ve centuries of experience with vampires,” Lucian told him, “I’m sure I can be of some assistance.”

“I’m- What, I’m sorry, centuries?”

Amy’s eyes were wide.

“Yes? Are you- Peter, does everyone think we’re mortal?”

Peter shrugged.

“People don’t think you’re real, love. But in fiction, usually not long lived.”

“Humans,” Lucian said with a sigh.

“Err, you not included,” he added, “of course,” though it was just a hint late.

Still, the kids did not seem to suspect anything. Good. Peter was glad Lucian was playing along. No one needed to know of Peter’s newfound lycanity yet. God, stupid word, really, but it was stuck in his mind, now.

“So. Bloodsucker in your old neighbourhood, yeah? What’s the situation? Missing people? I’m assuming so, otherwise who would know. Any particular type of victim? Kids? Young, attractive women? Bit of a mix and match situation? Old or dying people? Exclusively rapists? People with swastika tattoos?”

“Uh, teenagers, mostly, we think,” Charley said.

“Yeah,” Amy added, “my little brother goes to our old high school now, and he says people in his year have stopped showing up. Lots of rumours, of course, about people running away, moving without telling anyone, stuff like that, but it’s been like five people in less than three months, so it’s pretty clearly not a coincidence.”  
“Have any bodies been discovered?” Lucian asked.

“Not yet, no,” Charley said, “but we’re pretty sure most of them are dead. Or maybe turned? But then I guess they would just need more victims, right?”

“Depends on the type of vampire,” Peter said with a shrug.

“Not all vampires even drink human blood,” Lucian told them, “my- the strain local to Transylvania-”

“Wait, Draculas? Is Dracula real?” Charley demanded.

Lucian sighed.

“Only in as much as Vlad Ţsepeş was real. I met him once, briefly. Terrible man. Not a vampire, fortunately, or we might still be dealing with him.”

“My point, though, is that not all vampires feed on humans, including the ones I grew up around. They’ve even developed a form of synthetic blood they can feed on, but they largely subsisted on animal blood before that.”

“Hashtag not all vampires,” Peter said.

Lucian looked at him, and Peter made brackets with his hands, adding “bonus hashtag but like a lot of them.”

Amy smiled politely, if stiffly, while Charley just looked amused. Which, all right, fair enough.

“But likely,” Lucian continued, looking at Peter in that particular gentle and amused way he had, “the ones we are dealing with here are feeding on them. Otherwise there would be no need for suspicious disappearances. No vampire wants humanity to discover that the supernatural is real. If they were turning these children, then they would likely makes them try to keep up appearances, at least via some form of digital communication. Say they had developed some terrible illness or something. Cast the suspicion away from themselves. Tell their parents they had run away, perhaps, kept in contact via skype or something.”

“Yeah, not all vamps are all that careful, though. Some leave bodies, but usually no traces that it’s anything other than a strangely goth-y serial killer or something.”

They spent some time discussing the further details, making a plan. Lucian and Peter were to use their sources to try to figure out where the vampire was, and if all went according to plan, they would go after it the following weekend. As the two were leaving, though, Amy lingered.

“Hey, you know the texts you sent me?”

“Yeah?” Peter said, giving Lucian a look which he correctly interpreted as distracting Charley by telling him about the wildly incorrect books on vampire lore Peter had displayed in his foyer slash museum.

“Were… Were you asking because you had, you know, noticed anything?”

She sounded insecure, worried. Peter took a gamble. This was, after all, Vegas.

“Yeah, actually. I don’t know if anything’s changed, or if I just was too drunk to notice for a year and a half, but lately, it’s been… Mostly it’s my vision. I can see in the dark, like, really well. But I haven’t you know been dealing badly with sun, I can still use mirrors, I don’t want to drink blood or anything.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, bit her lip.

“Me too,” she said, voice so low as to almost be a whisper.

“I haven’t told Charley, I’m worried he… Well. I don’t want him to worry, you know?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, “I understand. I don’t think we’re slowly turning back into vampires or anything. But I’ve talked about this with Lucian. He said he could smell vampire in my blood from the moment we met. So it’s not completely gone from either of us. Or the handful of other people Jerry bit, I imagine.”

“That’s… It’s scary, but it’s good to know I’m not the only one.”

“Yeah, I get that. And same. And hey, I know I’m not… I don’t come across as the most… Whatever. Just, you can talk to me about this shit, yeah? If you don’t want to tell Charley, which, I get it, he’s very firmly anti vampire and a little bit rash, you can tell me, yeah?”

“Thanks,” she told him, “I will.”

And that was it, they said their goodbyes, agreed that they would text each other more info as soon as they found anything. And as the doors of the lift closed behind them, Peter heaved a sigh, leaning heavily on Lucian.

“Fuuuck,” he muttered.

“Do you think they suspect anything?” Lucian asked, putting his arm around Peter, kissing the top of his head.

“Not about the werewolf thing, not yet. Told Amy about the hint of vampire thing, I assume you heard.”

“Yeah. It’s… interesting that it’s happening, however subtly, to her too, despite you only noticing it after I bit you.”

Lucian ran a hand over the white dots shaped like his teeth at the base of Peter’s throat, which had, luckily, mostly been covered by the collar of his shirt. It was weird, having such a literal imprint of Lucian on his body. In time Peter suspected he might come to find it kind of sexy, a mark of their connection. Unless they broke up, in which case it would become only a painful reminder. Right now, it was still something he wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about.

“You should think about covering this, perhaps,” Lucian suggested, leaning in to place a kiss over the scar, “unless you want to tell them it’s left over from the vampires. But the young lady did not seem to have any lingering bite marks, and you don’t either from that, so it might not be a convincing explanation.”

“Yeah? With what, any suggestion?”

“Some more of those fake tattoos you use for your show, perhaps? A stylized garland of garlic? That seems fittingly cartoonish.”

“Asshole,” Peter murmured, “I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” Lucian said, “now, do you want to get back to what we were doing before they interrupted?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where, you may ask, am I going with this whole remnants of vampire tendencies thing? Well! I have no clue, but I think it's interesting, and so I will endeavour to figure that out.  
> Also this is now officially the longest fic I've ever written, and the longest thing I've written in general. Fun!


	31. April 25th, 2013, Peter's Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soft wolf puppies have emotions

"Hey," Peter said, his fingers playing with the triangle of chest hair revealed by the deep collar of Lucian's t-shirt, "what happened to your amulet thing? You wore it all the time, but I haven't seen you wear it in... weeks?"

"It was my last memory of Sonja, the only thing I had left of her, that I managed to take from what remained of her after I watched her burn. The vampire, the one who took you, stole it. I imagined she did with it as whatever she did with the weapons. Disposed of it somewhere."

Guilt flashed through Peter's veins.

"Lucian, I'm sorry, shit, that's terrible!"

"It's fine," Lucian said, but Peter could see the sadness in his eyes.

"It wasn't the real one. That was stolen years ago, taken from my body when they thought me dead. This one, I made myself. And I can do so again, when I have the opportunity."

"Why would they take it off you?"

Peter moved, shuffled down a little so his head rested against Lucian's chest, his arm thrown around him.

"I don't know. Perhaps it held value to the vampires, was something more than a pretty necklace for the vampire princess, or perhaps they just did it out of spite, or took it for proof or a trophy, like Kraven did my skin."

Peter held him tighter, running his hands over Lucian's upper arms to reassure himself the skin was there now, no trace of a fifteenth century wound.

"That's horrifying. So much of what you've been through, it's just... incomprehensibly terrible, Lucian, and fuck. Just knowing it happened makes my heart hurt. Which isn't useful, it's not, but. God. Fuck. You deserve so much better than all the shit that's happened to you."

He felt the soft press of Lucian's lips against the top of his head, an arm positioning itself to hold him close.

"It has been terrible, a lot of it. But it's better now. I get to spend time with you, to share your bed and your life, knowing you're safe, and reasonably happy."

"Deliriously happy, Lucian, right now."

Peter could have sworn he heard Lucian's heartbeat speed up just a little.

"Then I am happy, too. A memento is secondary, my memories of her are what matter. And you, my dear, of course."

My dear. _My dear_. It was the first time Lucian had ever called him a pet name. Though already pressed as close to him as was comfortable, Peter hugged him, tight, his chest bursting with an emotion he didn't quite know how to handle.

"Will you tell me about her? Y'know, like you asked me to do with my mum and dad? About what she was like? If it, you know, if it doesn't hurt."

"Just a little," Lucian said, "but it always will. But yes. What would you like to know?"

Peter thought for a moment.

"How did you meet? No, knew each other growing up, right, that's too easy. How did you get together? Realise you both had feelings for each other?"

"I knew I had feelings for her most of my life. She was beautiful, of course, but, more importantly, she was kind. And a formidable warrior. She did always abuse her sword a little though, she would always bring it to the forge when she returned from battle, demanding I sharpen it."

"She made you sharpen her sword? Very modern of her. And you."

"Peter."

"Right, not everything's a sex joke, sorry. Go on."

"I loved her, for decades, knowing it was futile. She was so unimaginably far above me. A vampire, as I had always wished to be. Elegant, refined, sophisticated. Not like someone who was forced to turn into a beast at the whims of the moon."

"Lucian..."

"Yes, the vampires gave me a hatred of my own species, and very deliberately so, I believe. To keep away thoughts of rebellion, thoughts of being worthy of freedom, or of being anything more than their loyal servants.

So I would dream of being, somehow, miraculously _cured_ of my _affliction_ , and being bitten, so that I could one day be worthy of her. I cared only for her, for doing what little I could to try to ensure her happiness and safety. And one day, she was headed to another castle, to meet the vampire lord to whom she was betrothed. He was a brute, a strange pervert by vampire standards, who took humans into his bed, and fed on them, too. But he was the son of someone important, and for the nobility that is all that matters. Keeping their power and their station, at all costs. 

We were attacked on the way there, by humans. I had insisted on coming along as her personal guard. I think they only allowed it because it amused them, to have one they so despised be so willing to give their life for one of them. But the humans attacked, having taken the place in which the vampires were to take their rest during the day, and we got there late, just before sunrise. They ambushed us, and most of the travelling party were killed, including Sonja's mother. It was quite brutal. I managed to save Sonja, though, to shield her from the sun, until I found a crypt underneath a ruined monastery where we could hide from the sun and the remaining humans. She cleaned my wounds, and-"

"Ah," Peter interrupted, "I've read enough romance novels to know where this is going. You had hot supernatural sex on top of a coffin?"

"No!"

Lucian sounded vaguely scandalised, which was, for whatever reason, just incredibly funny to Peter. Perhaps it was the way he'd had his tongue in the man's asshole less than an hour earlier, or the noises Lucian had made.

"Sorry," he said, tears of mirth in the corners of his eyes, "sorry, go on."

"All right. I'm not sure how that's amusing, but okay. Anyway, we talked, is what happened. Free of judgement, free of the worry that that we would be overheard. Got to know each other more properly, during that long day. I got to know her as a person, and not simply as someone I loved from afar. I remember thinking I wished the sun would never go out, so we could stay there together forever. It was not to be, however. 

The night came, and with it the full moon. I don't fully know what my plan was for the trip, because I was so scared of her seeing me transform, seeing irrefutable proof of my unworthy and beastly nature. But she... she didn't. She laughed at me, but only because of my fear. She hunted lycans, of course. She was a death dealer, so I do not know why I thought this would change anything. But she took my changed hand in hers, and kissed it, and bade me take her to our destination. Which I did. And we met her terrible fiance, and I was sent away, as befitted a slave, even one who had saved the princess. But that was when I knew. And shortly after we began to meet in secret, falling in love."

Peter leaned up to kiss Lucian's cheek.

"She sounds lovely," he told him.

"She was."

"What do you think your life would have been like? If she hadn't- if things had ended differently?"

"I don't know," Lucian replied after a moment, "but I always imagined us leaving the castle. Running away. They would never accept our union. I wanted us to go somewhere terribly far away, where no one could find us, and live together. I don't know if we could have. I don't know if we would have found a way, especially not after I freed the other lycans. There was always going to be a war, and demanding she take my side against her entire species, however wrongly they had treated mine, would have been a lot to ask. She loved her family, and believed they loved her in return. Though evidently not enough. Our child, the union of our two species should have been the start of peace, peace and the disbanding of our servitude, but instead it started a war."

They lay in silence for a bit, Peter unable to find the right thing to say, and just trying to be a comforting presence.

"I think you would have made it," he said at last, "I think you would have found a way. You were worth it, and she was worth it, and you would've had adorable little weird hybrid bat puppies."

Which made Lucian laugh. Good.

"Thank you, Peter."

"You're welcome," he replied, and then, a moment later, added, "uh, for what?"

"For being you. For asking. For not being jealous and for letting me talk about her. For understanding that my loving her doesn't mean I don't- that it has nothing to do with how I feel about you."

"Oh," Peter said, snuggling impossibly closer to Lucian, "course. Always."

-

For once, Peter woke up before Lucian. Perhaps it was their talk last night that had tired him out. He lay sprawled on his stomach, half covered by the thin sheet, a pillow under his ribs, long hair in all directions, partly covering his face. There was a small patch of drool just under where his face was pressed into the mattress. He looked ridiculous, and adorable, and it made Peter's heart swell.

"I love you," he whispered to the sleeping form, "I love you so much it hurts sometimes and I don't know what to do about it. And I know it’s too early to feel that, that we’ve been together for such a short time but… I do. Love you so much I forgive you for making me this.”

He rolled over to face away from Lucian.

“Love you so much I’d leave everywhere. Go with you to some deserted mountain and live the whole time in wolf shape if that was what you wanted.”

“You would regret it,” came a voice, at the same time as Peter felt Lucian against him, an arm around his side, the brush of lips against the back of his neck.

Shit shit shit he hadn’t meant for Lucian to hear any of that. Fuck.

“Probably,” Peter conceded, “but I’d do it anyway.”

He took Lucian’s hand, twining them together, holding it tight to his chest.

“You wouldn’t deal well with living outside a large city, I think,” Lucian said, “you would get bored.”

“Never get bored with you,” Peter countered, “but you’re probably right, yeah. Sorry, by the way. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s fine. Declarations of love are a nice way to wake up.”

“Fuck, yeah, sorry. I know it’s weird and too early and I should-”

“Love you too,” Lucian whispered.

Peter wriggled out of his arms, turning around so they were face to face, Lucian’s eyes mere inches from his own, staring at him with such affection.

“Really?”

He hated how needy he sounded. Lucian had said it, hadn’t he? It wasn’t the sort of thing you said just to make someone feel better about themselves, was it? God, he hoped not. 

“Yes,” Lucian said, leaning in to kiss him, just quick and soft, “I do. I agree it’s early, but so much has happened to us. It changes things, I think. But I do.”

“Well, thank fuck for that. It’d be really embarrassing, otherwise.”

Lucian smiled, and once again Peter was struck by how beautiful a sight that was. He put a hand on Lucian’s cheek, feeling the soft scratch of his beard. Leaned in to kiss him, as soft and gentle as he could, but Lucian deepened the kiss into something more passionate, that made Peter moan into it, his hand migrating into Lucian’s hair, tugging him ever closer. He really was so fucking lucky.

-

Later that day Peter drove them out to the desert, again. It was his second full moon. Exciting.

He had texted Charley to let him know he’d be unavailable, though he had framed it as his being supportive of Lucian’s need to transform instead. Lucian had agreed that it was wise. Despite the kids being their allies, being Peter’s friends, there was no sense in giving them too much information on the exact nature of lycan strengths and weaknesses. In case they were captured and interrogated by hunters, Lucian said. In case they turned on them, he clearly meant. But Peter could tell. Could tell he didn’t want to be rude, or to imply that Peter’s friends would turn on him.

It would be Peter’s fourth time turning into a wolf, total. He had tried once more, after the first time Lucian helped him, just to see if he could do it on his own. It had taken several hours, but he had managed at last. The turning back had been just as challenging, though, leaving him utterly exhausted and smelling of wet dog.

It happened quicker this time, or felt like it, at any rate. Felt like in no time at all he was a great big wolf creature. Lucian joined him, again, transforming too after spending some moments reassuring Peter that he made a very nice looking wolf. Which was nice. 

Being a wolf was weird. There was no way it wasn’t going to be, of course, suddenly having your body change into something utterly different and inhuman was bound to do that, but what he wasn’t quite prepared for were the emotional changes. Like Lucian said, it was a sort of dulling of his conscious mind. Not so much as to make him incapable of rational thought, not at all, but more a sort of mellow mood, where he didn’t feel the need for it as much. No continuous running commentary and analysis inside his head, just experiencing what was happening. If he could bottle this and sell it to anxiety sufferers he’d be, well, even more rich. He was starting to understand what Lucian meant about needing to be wolf shaped sometimes. It was nice.

Other parts were less comforting. Peter killed and ate a rabbit, and felt really quite weird about it. It wasn’t like instincts took over, they didn’t control him, he could have stopped himself if he had wanted to, but he found he just… didn’t. He had wanted to chase, to rip apart, to eat. But then, so long as it was animals, was for food, did that make it okay? It surely wasn’t worse than the humans who hunted and ate animals? But the desire to rip apart, to tear into something with his fangs, to taste the fresh blood of the kill, that was unsettling.

At the end of the night, a few hours before sunrise, they returned to the shack. Fell into a tangled pile of limbs, curled up together, sharing each other’s warmth. This too felt good. Felt natural. Some currently larger part of Peter’s brain that kept whispering that this was right, this was how it was meant to be. That Lucian was the leader of the pack and Peter was his mate. Which. Hmm. All right, wolf brain. Weird. Not bad, but strange. They weren’t words, exactly, nor emotions, so much as a sort of instinctual knowledge. 

He was still awake, still pondering this when the moon set, and he turned back into himself. His human shaped self. Lucian, who was asleep, stayed a wolf. Too old, now, to let the moon boss him around. Which was just as well, because Peter couldn’t remember where the blanket had gone, and having a large warm wolf curled around him worked even better. He buried his face in thick black fur, and managed, at last, to drift off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to skim through this entire goddamn fic to figure out whether I'd included that story about Sonja and Lucian before and it took over a fucking hour, just glancing through. Also, that part is all from the one novelisation, Blood Enemy, I think it's called? Which I paid real human money for, and am going to use to the fullest to flesh out their background a bit more.


	32. April 29th, 2013, Some Desolate Suburb, But Like, A Different One This Time, I Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God Damn These Vampires For What They've Done To ~~Me~~ These Two Sweet Wolfy Bois

The following week Lucian and Peter headed to the meeting spot. They had gotten a general idea of the neighbourhood in which the vampire might be lurking, and Lucian felt confident he could sniff it out from there. It was near to the area Amy and Charley had described, and so not too far from the house where they had fought Jerry. It made Peter uneasy. They got out of the car, and Lucian put his arm around Peter as he lit a series of cigarettes while they waited.

Amy and Charley arrived at last, with some excuse that Peter didn't pay enough attention to to remember. What did it matter. They hadn't dug up any more information, either, other than that another kid had gone missing. Six in just over three months. Was that much? According to Lucian vampire feeding habits varied, with some feeding occasionally, draining a victim and then laying low for a while, snakelike, whilst others needed more regular supply. Jerry had kept victims trapped, feeding on them at his convenience.

"Aww, no fire suit, Charley? You chickening out on me?"

"Fire suit?" Lucian asked.

"Yeah. Brilliant idea from this bright young lad, right, he goes and gets himself this thing, whatever, for stunt people or something, has me light him on fire and just tackles the vampire. Was fucking badass. Stupid, but badass."

"It worked," Charley muttered, crossing his arms.

Peter waggled his hands and made a noise intended to communicate that well, did it, did it really, or was it in fact Peter's very good blessed stake that did it. He turned to his boyfriend for support, but received only a faint smile. Traitor.

"You ready to find us our bloodsucker, then?" Peter asked.

Lucian closed his eyes. Breathed in deeply. Sniffed the air.

"Yes. Follow me."

Peter, while as he had been for two months now, overwhelmed by scents, could not make out any in particular that might be vampiric. He could smell Lucian, that very good smell, of something woodsy, the hint of wolf that always lingered, overlaid with Peter's preferred soap and shampoo because he hadn't gone home to his own flat in over a week. He hadn't moved in, exactly, but had said that he wanted to enjoy Peter's good will while he had it, and also it was just a much nicer place. Which was fair. Peter enjoyed having him there. He was never really good at being alone. Lonely, sure, but not alone.

Lucian wasn't the only thing he could smell, though, sadly. He knew that Amy and Charley had stopped for both overpriced coffee and burgers, that they had both stayed at the same house, and the brand of soda they had drunk the previous night. He could smell what all the different houses on the street had made for dinner, and the one house where everyone had got food poisoning. There were far more things his nose was picking up, of course, but he wasn't able to identify them all, just to recognize that they were indeed there. Like, presumably, the scent of the vampire.

When they got to the house, though, Peter thought he could pick it up. There was a scent that was unnatural. Death without decay. A sort of absence of life. And, of course, he could smell the bodies, too. He wasn't sure where from, but it was definitely noticeable. He glanced at Lucian, confirming wordlessly that he agreed. Peter felt pretty sure it was far too faint for a human to be able to pick up still.

The house had a garden, of sorts, mostly fake plastic grass, that faced the desolate stretch of land behind them, placed where it was just at the very outskirts of the suburb, nothing but desert and roads beyond. Perfect for needing a quick getaway. Ideal for a chase, should one become necessary.

"We'll head in first," he told the others, "Lucian and me. You kids wait outside, yeah?"

They agreed, but Peter had a strong suspicion that they would wait exactly two minutes before sneaking in after them. Although they had, arguably, had their life turn into a horror film plot, acting like the protagonists of one after they survived the first time seemed stupid. He was sure that wouldn't be enough to keep them out, though, so he made sure they were well armed. Made sure he was too, lest he look suspicious. Lucian didn't bother, not beyond the usual blade.

Peter and Lucian made their way in, through a front door that wasn't locked. It was definitely not the sort of neighbourhood where people left their doors unlocked at night, but then, doors were meant to keep the monsters out, usually. Probably any burglar stupid enough to try and rob this place just became the vampire's next snack.

The stench of bodies was thicker in here, enough so that Peter suspected even the humans might be able to pick up on it. It wafted down from above, the second floor, or possibly some sort of attic situation. Lucian motioned to indicate he go up, but Peter grabbed his arm for a moment, pulling him into a quick kiss. It was not the repeated declaration of love that he wanted it to be, that felt too much like tempting fate, but it looked like Lucian got the idea, from the soft, gentle smile that he gave Peter in return.

Peter stalked into what looked to be the living room. This had been a human home once, and by the look of it not too long ago, either. Stuff was still laying around. An open laptop lay on the sofa, plugged in, the little led indicating it was still getting power, even though there was a thick layer of dust on the keyboard. Maybe the vampire hadn't been in this particular spot too long, or maybe the people living here were doing well enough to have all their bills set to auto-pay. That would be a smart move, probably. Would lead no one to notice the house wasn't actually occupied with just newly shy residents.

There were no signs of any sort of struggle down here, no speck of blood in the pale, dusty carpet that covered most of the floor. Peter concentrated on letting his eyes be swallowed by the black, which helped with the dark vision. It would be quick enough to hide whenever Charley decided he was done doing as he was told. On the wall there were faint lighter parts, where crucifixes had clearly hung for years and years before being taken down. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen any mirrors either. Very classic.

From outside came a clattering noise, then footsteps. Kids were in. Right. He willed away his black eyes and fangs. His dark vision without them was still better than it had been pre-bite, but nowhere near as good. Lovely. He heard the footsteps of them coming in, but also a creaking, and that wasn't right, was it? None of the doors had creaked yet. Shit. He snuck back, as quietly as he could, sliding a large knife from its sheath at his hip.

He could see it, a dark shadow, barely perceptible, but clearly watching the two humans, so intent on them he wasn't paying attention to Peter. Also, humans were very noisy.

"Do you see anything?" Amy whispered loudly.

Charley shook his head, and pulled something out of his pocket, hitting a button repeatedly until a small torch flickered on. It was directed right at where the vampire stood, illuminating it's undoubtedly horrifically ugly and monstrous form, and Charlie yelped. Peter used this as a chance to lunge at the vampire, knife in hand, slicing into it's throat. 

The vampire howled, whirling around, spraying blood in a spattered line across the wall. The knife had not gone deep enough, not by far, and now the vampire was aware of him. It slashed out with a taloned hand (talons?? What fucking sort of vampire was this?), but Peter dodged it, kicked at its legs, knocking it off balance enough that he could pass it, put himself between the vampire and the vulnerable humans.

"Get out," he hissed at them.

They didn't move. Lucian did, though, judging by the rapid footsteps Peter could hear from above. 

"Why don't you pick on someone who's not a fucking child, eh? These guys, they're babies, can't even get a drink yet. Imagine that."

He was stalling, very obviously, knife held up in front of him, and yet Charley and Amy didn't run. God damn no survival instinct humans. Which, all right, fine. He saw Lucian's point. Lucian appeared from the stairwell, behind the vampire. It still hadn't said anything. Perhaps it couldn't. 

Right then, several things happened at once. Lucian made a move against the vampire, and Charley tried to push past Peter, stake in hand, but what he actually did was knock his knee into the back of Peter's, causing him to stumble, grip on the knife slipping.

The vampire, having dodged Lucian, grabbed the knife up off the floor, feinted, and stabbed it into Peter's upper arm. He both heard and felt it grazing bone.

"Peter!" Lucian yelled, but the vampire had used the distraction to move, and had shoved past the two young humans out the door.

Peter growled in pain.

"Go, get him," he forced out, cradling his hurt arm, which wasn't healing, not quite yet.

Lucian gave him a brief look, eyes big with worry, then gave chase. Which, what was that about? It wasn't silver, wasn't hurting badly enough to be. He gritted his fangs and tested his arm, but it moved fi- shit, fangs. He concentrated on getting his face to return to humanity fully, but when he looked up with brown eyes, it was clear it had been too late. Amy and Charley stood watching him, eyes wide.

"'S not what it looks like?" he tried, shuddering at his accidentally quoting the vampire from two weeks ago.

"So that's why you asked," Amy said, voice distant and tremulous, suddenly loud in the still house, "you're a vampire now."

"What? No, fuck off, don't be ridiculous," Peter protested.

"Is this what's going to happen to me?" She asked, voice barely audible.

Charley looked at her and frowned.

"What do you mean, happen to you?"

But at the same time he was pulling a stake from some hidden pocket, and damn the child, it was one of the silver tipped ones. Shit.

"I-" Amy began, but Peter interrupted her.

"Not a vampire, guys, promise. I may, however, have been very slightly, ah, nibbled on by Lucian a little bit. But in his defence it was to save my life. Lycan's what I am, now. Werewolf. Very much not a vampire, though."

The humans did not look like this had reassured them in any way at all.

"Your eyes," Charley said, "they're like Jerry's."

And look, was it sensible? No. But the fucking kid compared him to Jerry. Fucking Jerry. And he couldn't control the snarl of anger that left him. Charley and Amy backed up, pressed against the wall.

"I'm nothing like that monster," Peter said, his voice lower and more dangerous than he intended.

"Prove it," Charley demanded, voice shaking, the silvered stake firmly pointed in the direction of Peter's chest.

Peter let his less human features return, and bared his fangs.

"These look like vampire teeth to you?"

"Could- you could be a different type. The one here was."

"And your eyes are... they look like Jerry's, not Lucian's."

Peter suppressed an angry snarl.

"Fine," he said, just a hint of a growl in it, and shrugged off his jacket.

He closed his eyes, concentrated on the recently full moon, on how his wolf shape felt. And let it happen.

As he felt fur prick it's way through his skin he heard a scream, and when he opened eyes busy shifting slightly towards the sides of his head, his messed up focus showed him a blurry shape, a glint of something bright, and then a searing pain in his side, far worse that the cut in his arm, which was half mended already. It burned, stretching as his form changed, silver seared flesh being torn and moulded.

They were gone by the time his transformation was done. He heard the sound of their car starting, then speeding away. Fuck. Shit fucking fuck. Right. Lucian. He ought to check if he caught the vampire.

He exited through the back door, then fell into a run, following Lucian's scent. There was something satisfying about the way the claws on his hands dug into the dirt, propelling him forward, pulling, almost. So strange, and yet it felt like the most natural way to move.

He caught up with Lucian a few minutes later. He was busy hiding the body of the vampire, moving some boulders that looked far too heavy for his small and humanoid frame. He turned as he heard Peter approaching.

Lucian was beautiful. He always was, of course, but perhaps Peter's wolf form was extra aware of it, just now, seeing the blood smeared around his mouth, dripping down his chest. Mate, his stupid canine brain whispered, mate, mate, mate. As a noun, fortunately, not as a verb or imperative. He was very deliberately not going _there_.

"Peter, what happened?"

But Peter didn't want to turn back, not quite yet. He sensed that when he did, the looks of fear and disgust from Amy and Charley would punch him in his already wounded and bleeding gut.

He growled, low and despondent. Shook his head. Lucian frowned, coming closer to look him over, saw the wound in his side and winced in sympathy.

"Oh, Peter, I'm sorry. This looks painful, but it will heal. Slower than a steel wound, but still. Was it..."

Peter nodded. And Lucian took his head in his hands, resting his forehead against Peter's muzzle.

"I'm sorry, Peter."

They buried the vampire in a pile of rocks. Very old school, but Lucian told him it was to hide it, yet make sure smaller scavengers could get to it. Peter wanted to ask whether they enjoyed undead meat, but he supposed Lucian would know.

"I know it's easier, like this, but we need to go back and clean up the house. There's probably your blood there. Other traces. Causes of death to disguise. It was horrific up there. No idea how that vampire was killing them, but it was... quite gruesome. We will need to check, though, for an obvious bite marks and such. Will you change back for me, my dear? You can have my coat."

Lucian ran a hand through the fur along his neck, his strange and inhumanly long neck, and oh, that felt good. Still, Peter did as Lucian had asked, compacting in on himself till he stood there, naked and bleeding in the desert. Everything hurt more when he was human.

Lucian pulled him into a careful hug, kissing his hair, then bent down to look at the wound again, without the distraction of fur. He winced.

"That bad?" Peter asked, voice hoarse with newly reformed vocal cords.

"It's not good," Lucian said, studying the ragged, bloody hole.

It hurt like fuck, but Peter was full of adrenaline still, and the pain was distant, not like a memory, but like his body was some place far away. He shuddered. Lucian shrugged off his leather coat, hanging it over Peter's shoulders. He slid his arms in, closing it up. It was just a little too big on him, but short, falling down to end at his mid thigh.

"Feel ridiculous," he muttered.

"I've seen your tiny robes," Lucian reminded him, "you have no moral high ground here."

Peter grimaced at him as they began the walk back, longer and more uncomfortable now that he had neither shoes nor paw pads to protect his feet. The moon looked down upon them, two very human looking wolves. A small pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who wrote 2684 words of fanfic and about 34 words of their exam today it was definitely not me


	33. May 1st, 2013, Peter's Penthouse Panic-room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has a bad time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chunk of this is Peter having a panic attack, so if you don't wanna read that, then, you know, the next chapter will be up soon.

Peter wasn’t doing anything important, not really, not when it happened. He was watching some stupid TV-show, some vapid drama he could be bothered to follow the plot of, when it hit. It was just some throw away line in the show, nothing important, but still.

“No, _you’re_ the monster,” the lady who was having a shouting match with her boyfriend over something or other shouted and it just…

It brought it back. Brought back the way Amy and Charley had looked at him. That was what hurt the most. Well, the wound in his side, which still hadn’t healed, hurt like fuck also, but it wasn’t the same. Wasn’t the same as knowing that this- this was the best scenario. This was the best reaction he could hope for from people who seemed to genuinely like him, for whatever reason. Panicked looks and bodily harm.

What if they were right, though? Lucian promised lycans weren’t monsters they were just people, just normal people who happened to be able to turn into great big wolf like creatures, but what evidence did Peter have? Other than Lucian’s word, he hadn’t even met anyone else of their whole bloody species. What guarantee did Peter have, really have, that he wouldn’t prove decades of media and two betrayed looking kids right?

He shifted in his chair, feeling the way his heart was pounding, feeling like he might, at any moment, change again, against his will. The loss of control that the full moon had brought, it was scary. Terrifying, even. Choosing to change was one thing, challenging, but giving him a sort of control over this wild, fucked up situation, but the moon just pulled the wolf out through his skin. Changed his bones without his consent.

Fuck, he could feel it. He could feel it starting. Gently shaking he got to his feet, went to the bar, poured himself a glass of whiskey, swallowed down half of it in one. Fingers tapping, fast, frantic, feeling like he could feel himself changing. Running his tongue obsessively over flat, human teeth, feeling for the sharp edges, the point of fangs. He took a deep breath, feeling like he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs, like his throat was closing, ribs hurting with the pressure of it. What if it went wrong? What it his insides grew and changed, but his bones didn’t? He imagined feeling his inner organs speared on broken ribs, bleeding out alone.

He discarded the glass, grabbing the bottle instead, punched in the code on the wall mounted panel, and watching as the door to his panic room slid open. The air in there was slightly cooler than the rest of the penthouse, the one light flickering on. He closed the door, then sank down to the floor, back against the wall, eyes wide and darting between the different screens. More whiskey. He grimaced at the burn of it like this, but if he could drink enough, if he could get it into his blood fast enough then the panic would go away, he wouldn’t feel like he was quite so close to dying, to spiralling out of control.

Despite the cool air, his skin was slick with sweat, the thin fabric of his robe plastered to his skin, fingers slipping on the bottle. He tried to concentrate, tried to do his breathing exercises, but what use were they if his lungs could change, could shift and grow. He thought he could feel it now, sharp shards of bone piercing them. He gasped in a breath, feeling like it might be his last. More whiskey.

It felt like it lasted years, like it was never going to end, the time stamps of the security cameras clearly fake, slowed down, wrong. God, the worst thing about being a werewolf was how much more effort he had to put into get enough booze into his system, to feel that calm. The bottle was a third of the way empty, but he still felt like he was dying, like it was just a matter of time.

“Peter?”

A slight beeping sounded, then the door was pushed open. It was afternoon, and the bright light of the sun shone directly in, framing Lucian as a dark shape against unfathomable brightness. An angel.

“Peter, hey love, what’s going on?”

Lucian crouched down in front of him, took one of Peter’s hands in his.

“It’s no big deal, just having a panic attack, be done in a moment, just go hang out for a while,” Peter wanted to say, all cool and unaffected, but he didn’t. He choked on the words, and what came out was a sort of sob. Lucian took the bottle from Peter’s other hand, setting it carefully down on the floor.

“’M- it’s-” Peter got out, gasping for air, feeling like his body was trying to grow and shrink all at once, and he could feel claws trying to push out from behind his fingernails.

“Shh,” Lucian said, “it’s all right, it’s going to be all right, I promise.”

Peter made a noise of panicked disbelief. That was the thing, wasn’t it? He knew, intellectually, that this would pass. Knew that the searing, ripping terror wouldn’t last forever, would lessen and mellow out and in a while he’d be fine again, embarrassed at breaking down like this, at Lucian needing to come in here and calm him, but that did nothing to reassure him, to make him feel less like reality itself was betraying him. Tears pricked at his eyes and he tore his hands from Lucian, rubbing at his eyes, the faded eyeliner getting into his eyes, making it worse. 

“Fuck fuck fuck,” he muttered to himself.

Lucian sat down next to him, put an arm around him, pulling him into him.

“I’ll keep an eye on the screens,” he said, “make sure nothing’s out there.”

And Peter should have felt better, having him there. It was fucked up, wasn’t it? Still panicking when his big, tough superpowered boyfriend was there to protect him? But it wasn’t helping, not yet, just making him feel guilty for not feeling better at once.

“Can you tell me what’s bothering you?” Lucian asked, rubbing circles into Peter’s shoulder.

Peter shook his head, looking longingly at the bottle, feeling too ashamed to ask for it back. Didn’t want Lucian to know he couldn’t deal with shit without alcohol, did he? Lucian didn’t seem to need it, and he had turned Peter, made him powerful like him, so why should he need it?

“That’s okay,” Lucian promised, “that’s fine. Is there anything I can do for you, right now, to help?”

Peter meant to shake his head, but his whole body shook, tremors running through his bones. He let Lucian pull him into a hug, almost into his lap, leaning his head into Lucian’s chest, trying to let it calm him. Failing to.

“Peter, I need you to do something for me, all right? I need you to breathe, really slow. In, hold, out.”

Peter wanted to say something sarcastic about how he hadn’t thought of trying that, thanks so much, but he didn’t have the breath to. Ironic.

“It tricks your heart into slowing down a bit,” Lucian added, “it might help.”

So Peter did as he said. Let Lucian count the seconds for him, focused on how calm his voice was, the solid feeling of arms holding him. Lucian wouldn’t have turned him into something he couldn’t control, he was too good for that. Peter felt guilty, enough to distract him, enough that his breathing sped up again for a little bit.

“You’re safe, Peter, I promise you. I won’t let anyone or anything hurt you.”

“’S not- I’m-” Peter began, then faltered.

“Yes?” Lucian encouraged.

“Scared I’ll lose control,” Peter muttered.

He felt arms tightening their grip on him.

“Oh, Peter, I am so sorry. I understand your worry, I do, but I promise you you won’t. You’re in control, you won’t do anything against your will. You won’t accidentally change and hurt someone you care about, I promise. You won’t hurt anyone. I trust you, and even if you don’t, please know I’ll be there to make sure.”

And that, that actually did help, just a little. Not enough to calm him down, not exactly, but enough to let him him relax just a little into Lucian.

“I promise you won’t turn into a monster,” Lucian said, “promise you can’t. Only bad people become monsters. You’ll be, at best, a mildly annoying large wolf. People who become monsters when they’re turned were already monstrous humans, who simply let their new shape allow them to let go of the constraints of society. You’re not like that, Peter.”

Peter felt uncertain of the veracity of this, memories flashing through his head, of every employee he’d yelled at, the people he had hurt or ignored, the one assistant he’d fired for ordering the wrong syrup in his iced latte just because he’d been in a shitty mood. Perhaps he wouldn’t go straight to hurting people physically, not to tearing them limb from limb, but he wasn’t a good person. He dreaded the day Lucian would realise.

“Will you let me take you into the bedroom? No, not- not like that,” he said, and Peter could hear the smile in his voice, “but it’s more comfortable than the floor, don’t you think?”

Peter nodded weakly against him, and let Lucian pick him up, as if he weighed nothing. Let himself be carried, and carefully deposited on the bed.

“Just a second,” Lucian promised, darting out of the room and returning a few moments later, handing Peter his tablet.

“I thought, perhaps, you might like to watch something? Some of those shows that always make you laugh? It might help distract you.”

“You hate them, though,” Peter argued, but still unlocked the screen.

“I do,” Lucian admitted, “but you seem to like them. Besides. Thought I might transform. Be a proper guardian wolf, make sure nothing can get you. It all sort of becomes meaningless noise, then. I’ll, hold on-”

He closed the door, locking it, and then shoved a dirty laundry covered chair under it, like they did on TV to stop people being able to open it. Peter wasn’t sure whether it worked, but he appreciated the gesture. Appreciated, too, the solid, warm weight of a transformed Lucian laying across his lap, head turn to face the door, ready for any attackers, any angry mobs. Peter leaned the tablet against his side, opening netflix and finding something suitably silly and easy.

-

“Thank you,” Peter told Lucian hours later, when the sun had disappeared from the sky, and Lucian was once again human.

“Of course, always,” Lucian said, and kissed his hand. 

He was laying, still naked, next to Peter. A few, short strands of fur were sticking to his forehead, and his hair was a mess. Peter thought he loved him more than he ever had anything or anyone.

“Have you been getting these for long?”

“Yeah. Since, well, since my mum and dad died, really. Maybe not surprising.”

“I’m sorry.”

Peter shrugged, ignoring the plea from his tablet to plug it in, clicking it off and placing it on the night stand. He rolled onto his side so he faced Lucian. Wondered if he would ever get used to seeing him like this, here, in his bed, looking like he wanted to be nowhere else in this world. Probably not. Hopefully not.

“’S fine. There’s less of ‘em now. Well, used to be. Last year or two, it’s been… There have been more. Y’know, new set of vampire intruders in your home will do that to you.”

“I can understand that.”

“But it does help. Having you here. It doesn’t, I mean. Doesn’t make them go away, not really. But it makes it a little less bad. Especially now it takes so fucking long to drink them away.”

Lucian’s brows knitted together in a worried frown.

“I know, I know, that’s. We can talk about that later, okay?”

“Of course,” Lucian promised.

Peter lay there for a while, just looking at Lucian’s face. It was so lovely, so perfect, and exceptionally kissable. His sappy feelings must have shown on his face, because Lucian smiled, and it was such a good smile, cute and radiant both.

“Love your face,” Peter murmured.

“The rest of you is very good also,” he added, just to see Lucian do that soft little half laugh.

“Love you,” Lucian said, putting his hand on Peter’s cheek.

And, not that it had been a significant worry, but Peter was glad Lucian was the first of them to say it a second time. Say it properly.

“Love you too,” Peter told him, leaning in to kiss him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Panic rooms are rooms for having panic attacks in, right? I assume so. ~~Which makes every room in my flat a panic room.~~ Also, don't do like Peter and me, there are better ways to deal with panic attacks than alcohol. I've not found any of them yet, but I have been assured they exist.
> 
> Also! Thank you so much to @duraffinity for their absolutely lovely drawing of Peter and (fluffy!) Lucian! I'm so very, very flattered you like my story enough to draw anything based on it, and I love it! Look at the softness in both their faces! Look at that hand, that's an excellent hand!  
> 


	34. May 4th, 2013, Peter's Living Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter still has a bad time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some discussion of self harm in this chapter. Allusion to suicide attempts. But also like, wolfy flirting.

**Peter:** pls let me know I u2 are ok? Again, im sorry I scared you but I promise im not a monster

 **Peter:** wouldnt have hurt you. Dont turn into mindless murderwolf, just myself but furrier and stronger…

 **Peter:** pls respond??

 **Peter:** im worried please let me kno u guys didnt get eaten by vamps

-

Peter watched the scalpel slice into his arm, the blood blooming, a few drops running down his arm. He brushed them away to see the cut had already sealed itself up. He made another cut, slower, longer. They were fairly shallow, not like the thing he had done to himself when he was a kid, but it was sort of hypnotic to watch. Cut. Bleed. Smooth, healthy skin. Just a few seconds.

There was pain with the cuts, of course there was. Wouldn’t be much point, otherwise, but it disappeared as soon as the metal left his skin. Sharp, quick pain, then nothing but a thin trail of blood to show for it. He had a row of them, now. Lots of thin red lines of blood in various states of dryness down his lower left arm. He poked at the dry streaks, watching the blood crumble, getting stuck in hair. 

“Peter? Why does it smell like bloo- oh.”

Oh. Lucian was back. Shit, he had meant to clean this up before. Hadn’t meant to flaunt this, hadn’t meant to communicate some sort of cry for help. Lucian’s eyes were wide with worry when he sat on the arm rest of Peter’s chair.

“Will you let me take the knife?”

His voice was careful, like he was sure Peter would do something stupid, like he could actually hurt himself. Like anything he did even mattered now. Peter handed him the scalpel. He could feel Lucian’s concern radiating off him, but he kept quiet.

“Are you okay?” he asked at last.

“Oh, yeah, brilliant. Just cutting myself up for fun.”

Lucian didn’t reply, his face a mix of worry and confusion. Peter rolled his eyes.

“’M not fine. Feel like shit, still. I just… I keep being reminded. Don’t know what it is but…”

“Of what?” Lucian asked, carefully placing the scalpel on the table, out of arms reach.

“That I’m a monster.”

“Peter,” Lucian began, but Peter motioned for him to be quiet.

“I know, I know, we’re not… But does that matter when everyone thinks you are? I had like three separate dogs freak the fuck out as soon as I got within a couple meters of them today. Charley and Amy still won’t respond to my texts and it’s been over a week. And they are, you know. They know me. They like me. Sort of, anyway. Trusted me. Even knew about supernatural things, but still. Did you see the look on their faces?”

Lucian reached down, pulling Peter into a half hug, so his face pressed into his stomach. He put his arms around Lucian’s waist, then let his head slide down to rest in his lap.

“I should have told you,” Lucian said, “the thing with animals. They can smell us, you know. We smell like a bigger, scarier predator to them.”

“This isn’t really about the dogs not liking me,” Peter mumbled into jean fabric.

“I know,” Lucian said, stroking his hair.

“I know, and I’m so sorry. It was a rough way for them to find out. But at least they know, and perhaps they can come to terms with it, after a while.”

“I guess,” Peter sighed.

“You know,” Lucian said, “this is why I’m so very glad we met like we did. Never had to actually tell you what I am. Can’t imagine that would have gone well.”

“Ah, yeah, you might be right. Would depend on how well we’d gotten to know each other by then, I s’pose.”

“At what point do you think you would have taken it well?”

Peter leaned back, looking up at Lucian, seeing that there was caution in his expression still.

“Don’t think I ever would, really. Think I would’ve panicked either way. But if we’d gotten to where we were dating I think I would’ve felt pretty betrayed.”

Lucian closed his eyes, then nodded.

“Yes. Hence, good thing we met when we did.”

“I’m sorry Lucian, but there’s not really any good way to tell people, is there? Or have you found one you’re not telling me about?”

Lucian shook his head.

“There really isn’t, you’re right. I don’t blame you. Or hypothetical past you. Just, as I said, glad you’ve always known what I was, and managed to look past it.”

“Uh,” Peter said.

“What?”

“Might’ve had some fantasies about you quite early on that definitely did involve the fangs.”

“Really?” 

Lucian sounded intrigued, smug even.

“Please, tell me more.”

He got off the chair, coming round so he could sit down, on knee either side of Peter’s thighs, looming over him. God he was hot.

“Was, uh, was a lot of you, mouth round my cock, looking up at me with those pale eyes.”

“You do know there are fangs involved? I’m afraid your very lovely cock might be a bit, ah, shredded, after such an act.”

Peter winced.

“Fuck, d’you have to say it like that. Ouch. But no, yeah, it’s a fantasy, isn’t it. Besides I’d only met you the once, and-”

“This was after the first time we met? I am _very_ flattered,” Lucian told him, and there was something predatory in his eyes that went straight to Peter’s cock.

Peter blushed, actually blushed, like some kind of idiot, and looked away. But strong hands found their way into his hair, directing his attention back to Lucian.

“Tell me what other things you imagined.”

His voice was commanding, and sent a shiver down Peter’s spine. He found that his hips twitched, moving involuntarily, trying to buck up into Lucian. 

“Imagined you fucking me. All feral like, all rough, holding me in place. Holding my hands over my head, using your teeth on me while you were inside me.”

“I’m sure,” Lucian said, with a wolfish smirk, “that we could put some of this into practise.”

-

“So,” he told his therapist, “I’ve been self harming again. I wasn’t gonna tell you, honestly, but my boyfriend’s making me. Said some nonsense about that’s what you’re for, or whatever.”

“It is, indeed, what I am for. So, this boyfriend, you two are- this is the same one, yes?”

“Course, yeah.”

“Only, the last time I asked you about him you told me,” she checked her clipboard, “to, and I quote, fuck off. So I wasn’t entirely clear on where you stood.”

Peter frowned.

“’S been good with us for like. Five weeks or so? Why wouldn’t I have told you?”

“Well, you did skip our last three sessions,” she pointed out.

“Ah. Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“Hey, I had a few extra hours to get caught up on some new articles I’ve been meaning to read. These are for your benefit, you know. But tell me, why have you been feeling the need to hurt yourself?”

“You’re not gonna tell me off?” Peter asked, shifting in his chair, pulling his legs up under himself, generously transferring whatever dirt was on his shoes onto the upholstery.

“Do you want me to? I don’t think that’s particularly productive.”

“Right. Fine. Well. Okay. So, I’ve told you about Charley, right?”

“The young man who was involved in helping you locate and commit vigilante justice on the man who murdered your late girlfriend, yes?”

“That’s the boy, yeah. Anyway, he and his girlfriend showed up at my place and…”

He paused, trying to work out how to phrase this. Clearly he couldn’t tell her the exact scenario, but… Oh, it was a bit unfair to them, a bit mean, but it worked for the purposes of being done therapy to. She was, after all, not allowed to tell people.

“Well, they walked in on me and Lucian making out. And the.. Fuck, they way they looked at me, at us. Like I was disgusting, horrifying. And it’s… It’s been a long time since someone reacted like that. Takes me back to my teens.”

“That is terrible. And surprising, for what you’ve told me of them. You weren’t out to them?”

Peter shrugged, helplessly.

“Never really came up. Had a live in girlfriend at the time they met me, so they probably just assumed. It’s harder, you know, bidar. Much harder than gaydar. Specially for men, I think.”

She nodded sympathetically.

“Was there a lot, when you were young?”

“Well, it was the early nineties, y’know. And a smallish village the foster home was in. It wasn’t… great.”

“And did you use to self harm? Back then? To deal with it?”

Peter rubbed at the scar right below his elbow.

“Not so much in the cutting way. Did once. Told a boy in my year that I liked him, was too stupid not to say, thought he might, y’know, be into me too. Had gotten pissed first, which helped. And he looked at me like he might vomit. And then he did, he was quite pissed too, to tell you the truth. And that was fine, I could’ve dealt with that, but then he told everyone at school. Which wasn’t great for my social life. So, after about a week of insults and slurs and getting beaten up, I nicked my foster dad’s razor. Spent like an hour in the bathroom, working up the courage. Cut it, just here,” he indicated, pulling up the sleeve of his hoodie, revealing a long white scar.

“Bled like fuck, and I panicked. Must’ve shouted or something. Foster dad came rushing in, yelling at me. Worried more about whether it’d mean they’d get, fuck, I don’t know disqualified as foster parents or whatever, than about what was wrong with me. But they took me to the emergency room, told the people there some unconvincing lie. Remember this one nurse looked me in the eye, and I knew she knew what I’d done. Anyway, after that they locked up all the sharp things. Demanded I show them my arms every day, to make sure I wasn’t cutting.”

He sighed, and looked down at the rest of his arms, where only hours before cuts had lingered for seconds before healing.

“So I found other ways to cope. Mostly alcohol and drugs. Some really very terrible choices in sex partners, that one time I tried to swallow a whole thing of sleeping pills but threw them all up again, but you know that stuff, yeah.”

“But now, it’s- I mean, you say you do quite a lot of sex and drugs anyway, so when you say you’ve started to self harm again, how do you mean?” she asked, glancing to the otherwise smooth skin of his arm.

“Oh,” he said.

“Uh,” he continued, trying to think of something.

“Well, ‘s on my legs, right. Got to be shirtless for parts of my show, can’t very well have half healed cuts all over my arms.”

She scribbled something down on her clipboard.

“Do you feel it helps?”

“Nah,” Peter said, “not really. It’s a thing you do, right, can’t feel any emotional pain if your brain’s busy with physical pain. That’s the idea, anyway, right? But after that first time, I’m still worried I’ll cut deep enough that I’ll need some sort of medical attention. And that’s terrible and hard to get in your shitty country.”

His therapist looked like she was about to argue, but then her face fell.

“Yeah, okay, fair.”

“So it’s just little cuts, tiny shallow things, but they don’t really work. Doesn’t really make me feel anything less.”

“So why do it, then?”

Peter shrugged.

“Feel like I need to do something, something aggressive and drastic to deal with this. And to honest with you, I already drink enough, get enough drugs in me that that doesn’t really fill that void. So it’s this or impulsively get tattoos while drunk, really. And what are those but socially acceptable ways to pay people to hurt you. Well, hurt you artistically. Whatever.”

She nodded, as if his point had been coherent.

“So it’s not still about the… The previous situation? With the metaphorical forcibly amputated arm?”

Peter tilted his head to the side, thinking. 

“I mean, they’re sort of related, yeah.”

Her eyes widened.

“Was- Peter, did he give you HIV? Is that the life changing consequence of whatever he did to you?”

“Oh! No! How would he have saved my life by giving me HIV? His dick is very good, but I don’t think it can do that. So no, nothing like that. At least unless you’re J.K. Rowling making thinly veiled metaphors. Nah. Being safe, promise. It’s just… It’s the whole situation. Everything is connected, y’know. Holistic trauma.”

“That’s- all right. Not really what that means, but fine.”

She scribbled more, and he wondered whether she believed him. Or what she thought he was lying about. Maybe he shouldn’t have told her, maybe she’d want to up his dose. Would that be bad? Did it even help any more? He didn’t know. It didn’t feel like he was getting better, didn’t feel like this was helping, but when did it ever? When was recovery ever anything but an agonizingly slow crawl?


	35. May 11th, 2013, Outside Peter's Dressing Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter, finally, has a good time!

“Peter?” Lucian called, knocking on the door of his dressing room, where a shiny bronze plaque indicated he might be found.

The show was over, Peter should be there. He wasn’t answering his phone, but that made sense, because when Lucian had called him he had heard Peter’s awful ringtone from inside the room. Well. Perhaps the show was running late. Lucian leaned against the door of the dressing room, shoving his phone into his pocket and resigning himself to wait. This surprising Peter by waiting for him right when he finished his show was still proving challenging.

Lucian had been away for a little while, a few days, up North sorting something out with a small pack. It was the longest they had been apart since they had gotten back together again. He had been hesitant to leave, given how the situation with Charley and Amy had been affecting Peter lately, but Peter had insisted. It was important, he’d pointed out, to keep in contact with the few lycans who had emigrated to the Americas, and Lucian couldn’t disagree with that. 

It had been a small pack, just five lycans, who had all been turned by people Lucian long since had lost contact with. Not all lycans, after all, felt as strongly as he did about fighting the vampires. Some simply wanted to live their lives in peace, far away from the conflict. And well, Lucian could absolutely respect that, support it. It was, after all, what he had fought for. He hadn’t wanted to rule, either, that was what vampires wanted.

They had contacted him because they had had some problems with local vampires, and they were lucky enough never to have had much contact with any previously, so he had helped them take the bloodsucker out. He’d stayed an extra day, too, to give them some tips on what to do with vampires, how to avoid hunters, and what anti vampire remedies they would do well to have on hand. But he had so missed Peter.

It was weird, missing him, but not because of their fighting. He hadn’t really experienced that before, not with Peter, and it felt different. They had video chatted, on the third day, Peter trying to suggest they should do skype based phone sex, but Lucian had told him again about lycan hearing, and how he very much was in a guest room just one wall away from two of his hosts. The result was, either way, that after six days apart, Lucian really fucking missed Peter.

The plan had been to get back earlier, to spend some time together before Peter had his show, but Lucian had gotten stuck in traffic, some accident that didn’t even let him get by on his motorbike. So he was tired, he was frustrated, and he really wanted Peter in his arms right now.

He heard the clicking of heels approach, and saw one of the vampire ladies from Peter’s show coming down corridor. 

“Hey,” she said, “you’re Peter’s newest boytoy, right? Well, man toy, maybe, considering the beard.”

There was no longer any trace of an Eastern European accent in her voice, it was fully American now. Not local, he could tell as much, but he couldn’t pinpoint where in the country she might be from.

“We are together, yes,” he told her, a little unsure of what she was implying.

“Oh sweetie,” she said in a voice he thought she probably intended as sympathetic, but which came across as condescending, “he doesn’t do relationships. Even when he was with Ginger there were others. Me, for instance, had a great time all three of us once. I’m sorry to crush your hopes, but he’s really not the dating type.”

“Okay,” Lucian said, not entirely certain of where this interaction was going, “I understand that that has been his pattern in the past, but we are together now. I’m fairly certain that’s how he feels too.”

She smiled a pained and insincere smile.

“Yeah, he told me that once too. We dated like a short while before he and Ginger became a thing. I don’t know what it was, why she was better than me, but I guess they clicked.”

“He’s kind of an asshole, you know,” she added.

“Well, yes, sometimes, a little bit,” Lucian agreed, because much as he loved Peter, he couldn’t quite say she was wrong.

“Oh, good. I worried you’d disagree with me, then you really wouldn’t have known him.”

He couldn’t quite tell whether she wanted him to leave Peter or whether she was just angry at him for it not working out between the two of them. Maybe a mixture of the two. There were some things that sounded just mean, others genuinely worried.

“I’m sorry if he was… Careless in his romantic conduct towards you, but he really is more mature now, I think.”

“Peter? Mature? Only when it comes to ratings, honey.”

“Oi,” came a shout from down the hall, “you bad mouthing me to my new boyfriend, Zoe?”

The woman, presumably Zoe, started guiltily before her face settled back into a practised smile. Lucian couldn’t imagine working in Peter’s show was easy. Peter, sweet and lovely as he often was, did not seem like he would be a great co-worker or boss to have. But that was all right. He would have all the time in the world, now, to focus slightly more on how his behaviour affected other people.

“Not at all,” she replied, “we were just talking about you, sharing nice stories, right?”

“Yes,” Lucian confirmed.

Whatever she was trying to do, she didn’t deserve Peter getting mad at her. 

“Good, ‘s what I like to hear,” Peter said, before nearly pouncing on Lucian, throwing his arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

“Missed you,” he whispered into Lucian’s hair.

He pulled back just enough to kiss Lucian, teeth clashing, hot and desperate with separation, hands clawing at him, wanting and needing him closer. He fumbled in his pocket, then pulled out a key, unlocking the door to his dressing room, and pushing Lucian inside, following him, and then slamming the door shut behind him with a poorly aimed kick. Lucian, slightly more sensible and realising where this interaction felt like it was headed, leaned over to lock the door behind them.

“I think you might have hurt that young lady’s feelings at some point,” Lucian told Peter as he carelessly ripped off parts of his costume. 

“Ah, don’t care what she told you, was clear from the start it was just sex.”

Lucian watched him struggle with his coat, so eager to undress that he was barely able to. It was, he thought, quite sweet. 

The dressing room wasn’t all that spacious, but seemed nice enough, with a vanity type space for getting ready, two large wardrobes that cartoonishly contained nearly identical versions of his costume, as well as a single set of sweats. There was a smallish sofa in the corner, on which, presumably, Peter intended to ravage him, and on which he had, undoubtedly, ravished others also. That was fine. They were both adults, they both had past sex lives, but Lucian did find himself hoping fervently that it had been cleaned since the last such occurrence.

“Hey,” Peter said, nudging him, “you’re still all dressed.”

“Well, perhaps I would like to show you how much I missed you not exclusively through sex?”

Peter looked down at his own now naked body, then up at Lucian, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows.

“Right, yes. Later. That works too,” Lucian said, beginning to pry open the buttons of his shirt.

Peter came closer, kissing him, attempting to help Lucian remove his clothes, though in reality just prolonging the process. He kissed along Lucian’s jaw, down his neck, nipping at the skin. As more of Lucian’s chest was revealed he pressed kisses there too, against his sternum, across his nipples, tugging carefully at them with his teeth and making Lucian keen.

When Lucian was free of his shirt, Peter opened his trousers, pulling them and his underwear down just enough to free his cock, which was rapidly hardening. Peter licked along the length of it, tongue broad and wet and not enough pressure at all, and Lucian made a slightly undignified whining noise. Peter grinned up at him, and took him into his mouth. Just the head first, tongue swirling over the slit, then easing the rest of his length in, his hands on Lucian’s hips, nails digging into his skin.

“Please,” Lucian begged, not entirely sure what he was asking for, other than _more_.

He buried his fingers into Peter’s hair, softly encouraging him to move. Lucian tried to keep himself from thrusting into Peter’s mouth, but was unable to stop his hips making shallow movements, and from the way Peter moaned around him, it didn’t seemed like he minded terribly.

“Really missed you,” Lucian murmured, tugging at Peter’s hair, feeling him grin around his cock.

Peter pulled off him, a thin strong of saliva connecting his mouth to Lucian’s cock.

“Missed you too. Missed having you in my bed, and my mouth, and my life.”

Lucian wanted to kiss him, but also very much wanted him to go back to sucking him off, and the indecision seemed to show on his face, because Peter pressed a soft, sweet kiss to the tip of his cock, then swallowed him down again. He bobbed up and down, and tugged at Lucian’s hips, encouraging him to thrust. Which, with encouragement, Lucian did. He felt far less like he had to be cautious around Peter, these days, like he had to worry about accidentally hurting him, worry about being too much or too rough.

Peter’s fingers were digging into his ass now, it felt like he was trying to swallow Lucian whole. It felt good, felt perfect, and it was only a few moments’ more before Lucian felt his orgasm crest, spilling into Peter’s mouth.

As he came down from the high of it, watching Peter swallow, licking Lucian’s softening cock clean, looking utterly pleased with himself, he concluded that what the human had said was nonsense. It might be the orgasm speaking, but Peter looked up at him with such adoration, and Lucian knew that when he told Lucian he loved him, he meant it.

Lucian tugged at Peter, encouraging him to get to his feet, and pulled him into a kiss, tasting his own release on Peter’s tongue. He felt so good, so very good, and so very lucky to have this gorgeous, ridiculous man in his life.

He undressed the rest of the way, movements slow with how good he felt, how sated. He draped himself across the dubiously hygienic sofa, encouraging Peter to climb on top of him, their lips locking again in another sweet, slow kiss. 

“Want you inside of me,” he told Peter as they parted for breath, and he seemed very enthusiastic about the concept, scrambling, leaning precariously off the sofa to dig out a small tube of lube, gratifyingly dusty, from under a pile of stuff on the floor.

Peter backed up, settling himself between Lucian’s thighs, forcing them wider apart. He poured a glob of gel onto his fingers, rubbing them together to warm it up, before slowly inserting a finger into Lucian. He was post-orgasmically relaxed, and Peter was almost immediately able to add another without any hint of discomfort. He scissored his fingers, nudging him more open, finding that gland inside him and pressing his fingers into the spot, making Lucian moan, his cock twitching, yet not quite ready for a second round yet.

After inserting a third finger, thrusting lazily into him for a few moments, Peter pulled out, pouring more lube onto his cock, slicking himself up. Then, slowly, careful, as he always was, he slid into Lucian. 

He thought he’d never tire of the feeling of Peter inside him, the way he filled him perfectly, stretching him open just right. He pulled out, slowly, until only the head remained inside, then thrust back in, balls slapping against his own. Lucian managed to get one leg around his lower back, his hands on Peter’s shoulders, pulling him closer, wanting him as deep inside him as he would go, wanting there to be no space between them at all.

“Need you,” he murmured.

“You have me, as much of me as you want, always,” Peter assured him, voice breathy.

He moved against him, thrusting into him, setting a fast rhythm. Lucian wanted him, wanted him so very badly, even as they lay there, intertwined, Peter moving into him. He pulled him down into a poorly coordinated kiss, tongues attempting to explore mouths, frequently finding teeth or lips, and then, fangs. When Lucian looked up at Peter, completely black eyes looked into pallid blue ones. They both moaned, almost in perfect unison, and Peter sped up, his thrust faster, less steady, but still everything Lucian could want or need.

Peter stilled, suddenly, face contorted in pleasure, and Lucian felt his cock stutter inside him, spilling into him, filling him. He held him close, petting his hair, kissing his face as Peter sort of lovingly collapsed down on top of him, utterly boneless, an absolute mess of a lycan.

“Love you,” Peter mumbled into his hair, “love you lots, wolf boy.”

“Love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like including them interacting more with others to give slightly more context to who they are, but idk if you guys are into that. Also sorry this chapter is a bit late, but I decided I aggressively needed to write some Martin Whitly-centric smut yesterday, so check that out if it's your thing. No David Tennant character, but cuddly adorable murder Sheen having prison sex is fun too. And anyway, I do want to make it clear that Peter, despite getting better, like, interpersonal interactionwise, is still kind of a dick to other people. He been pretty good at being nice and caring to Lucian, and he tries to with Charley and Amy, but he's still kind of selfish, kind of angry at stuff, not coping great. But Lucian loves and believes in him anyway.


	36. May 17th, 2013, Lucian's Flat, A Shittier Part Of Vegas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Online communications for moderately tech competent wolves in love

Lucian was home. Well, back in his small flat, anyway, it had never truly been a home. But it felt weird, he hadn't been here for over three weeks, staying exclusively with Peter to the point he might as well have moved in. Did he want to do that for real? Would Peter want him to? No, too early for that still. It was just a prolonged state of not being bothered to go home, of the convenience of closeness. And besides, Peter's place was large enough that it was hard to get in each other's way.

The place had accumulated a thin layer of dust over everything, except a few of the items in the fridge, which had instead developed a fuzzy coating of mould. He tossed the offending items into a plastic bag, depositing it by the door, and sat down on the fourth hand sofa. 

It was quiet here. Well, there was the noise of traffic from outside, the scraping of chairs and pattering of children's feet from the floor above him, the buzz of tens of conversations his keen hearing could pick up throughout the building, the hum of hundreds of electrical appliances, but still he felt cocooned in the quiet. 

Peter's place was always full of noise. He would have music playing, sometimes on several devices at once, which Lucian found hellish at first, but then got used to, or he would have the television on, or videos playing on his computer. Other times the noise would simply be Peter, laughing at or complaining about whatever he was looking at on his phone, or sleepily telling Lucian about how hot he was, or the intricacies of fake vampire hunting. There was always life when he was there, even when Peter wasn't, somehow, and by comparison the lifeless quiet in his own flat was deafening.

He laid down on the sofa, pulling out his mobile and opening the browser, typing in https://www.twitter.com/Peter_theVampireSlayer. He knew he didn't have to do it quite so thoroughly, but Peter found it funny, calling him a truly ancient man, and even when he wasn't there, doing this reminded Lucian of his silly grinning face he made every time. He scrolled down past a pinned tweet about where to buy tickets, and past a few fan interactions to find a picture.

 **@Peter_theVampireSlayer:** this is as much of a picture as the bf lets me put of him online but I promise you he's (several flame emojis) 

It was a self portrait of Peter, laying on his bed, hair artfully messed up, smudged eyeliner and fake eyebrow piercing still in. Lucian's arm was resting around him, fingers slipping under the edge of his collar.

Lucian smiled, saving the image to his phone. That had been the previous night. Peter had been doing some sort of scheduled fan interaction thing on twitter, cuddling up against Lucian as he answered nonsensical questions about his show, every conveivable form of vampire media, what his favourite colour was and more. 

"Got to let 'em know I care," Peter explained, "gets them coming back for more, buying repeat tickets, merch, and we're thinking of taping it and putting it on dvd, or some pay to stream thing. Changing up the show more drastically, more often."

Lucian had nodded, and kissed his neck, and told him he was doing good, in a futile attempt to pretend he had any idea what Peter was talking about.

Mostly the response to it, to Peter's sort of announcement that they were dating, or at least that Peter was dating someone, had been good. People with names like **@sm0lgay97** and **@fangtasiafan1989** told Peter in poorly phrased and spelled 140 characters how much they were excited, and that they were cute together. A half hour or so later drawings popped up, mostly of Peter, sometimes with some sort of generic white man, none of which looked like Lucian. That was for the best. Some, though, seemed betrayed by the news that Peter wasn't solely interested in scantily clad vampire ladies. Mostly Peter blocked or reported them, but some he replied to.

 **@Peter_theVampireSlayer: @realvamp78** you think str8 men wear this much eyeliner m8?? Fuck off

 **@Peter_theVampireSlayer: @g0741c** i fucking live in vegas m8 it's 40 fucking degrees im already burning in hell, and ill do it as bisexually as i fucking want piss off

 **@Peter_theVampireSlayer:** not to be a bad influence but if any of u kidz wanna dox these biphobes.... i might have some free merch for ya

After he explained what he meant by the last one, Lucian wasn't quite sure it was particularly ethical, but then, he had kidnapped and experimented on humans, which had very much lead to most of their deaths, and so he didn't feel he could really say much against unmasking bigots on the internet.

It was fascinating seeing how people responded to Peter, particularly people who had clearly never met him in real life. There were multiple declarations of love, requests for birthday well wishes, and some young people of various genders who attempted to send him nude pictures of themselves.

"Never open those," Peter assured Lucian, though he was fairly certain that this was a lie.

It didn't matter, not really. Not when Peter was doing all this while laying in his arms, occasionally squirming around so he could kiss Lucian. When Peter bore his mark on his neck. Which, yes, he did still feel bad about almost as much as he enjoyed it. Peter had taken to covering it up, and though it was on Lucian's suggestion, Lucian found himself wishing he wouldn't, as much as it made him remember his guilt. 

Perhaps, as had been suggested to him by several members of his pack, he wanted to be punished. Felt he deserved it. Which of course he did. He had been one of the leading forces in a war, and despite the honourable and righteous nature of his cause, much of what he had done had been horrible. He had killed so very many people. Mostly vampires, true, but a fair amount of humans also, and he was thankful very little of this history remained written down. Still, he worried Peter would learn of it. Worried he would find out, and not be able to look at Lucian without seeing only the people he had killed, especially after the amount he had had to defend vampires to him. Had had to explain that they, too, were people, many born as such, or turned against their will, and no intrinsic part of the system that had enslaved Lucian and his race, but still fighting for that side. It was challenging. 

His mobile beeped.

 **Peter:** u staying there 2nite?

 **Lucian:** Yes. But I will miss you.

 **Peter:** :( u 2.<3<3.

He thought it would be good. Proving he didn't actually live with Peter, that his life wasn't entirely dependent on their relationship. But he didn't know what to do, now. He had, foolishly, left his laptop in the penthouse, and so there wasn't much he could effectively do in terms of research. 

Lucian hauled himself from the sofa, walking over to the ornately carved chest that sat by the foot of the bed. It was the only thing he had brough from Europe, from home. He unlocked it, and opened it up, picking an old book from the top. It was from the early sixteenth century, and was preserved well only in the sense that it had yet to fall apart. Some of the pages were singed from a knocked over candle, and some pages had stains from where goblets of wine had been carelessly placed on it.

 _De Historia Lupi et Vespertiliones_ was embossed on the cracked leather cover in letters that had been gilt but now just looked dirty. One spread, in particular, was looking rough. It was a stylized wood print which depicted the one time ruling vampire family in Castle Corvinus. An ink stain perfectly covered the middle figure, but to its left side was a young woman. Her face was minimalistically rendered, as was the style of the time, and didn't really look like her, but still. It was Sonja. Lucian had taught himself how to draw and paint, his supposed death coinciding nicely with the renaissance, and a remewed appreciation for likeness and detail in art, but by the time he felt confident enough in his skills to try, it had already been fifty years since her death. He had never quite managed to capture her, though he had hundreds of rolls of paper, and later books, all filled with attempts at her face. Some of the more successful ones were in this chest.

Lucian wondered whether he should attempt to paint Peter, whether he would like it, or make fun of him for being sentimental, or not being quite able to capture his likeness. Probably he would be kind. Peter was a lot nicer than both others and he himself gave him credit for. At least when he was in the mood for it, when directed at someone for whom he cared.

-

**From: c.brewster@genericuniversity.edu  
To: notpeter_vincent@gmail.com**

Hi, Peter. Amy and I are fine, back at college, now. I am sorry for stabbing you, I guess that was a bit too much.

-Charley

And that was it, that was all the kid had to say, after the tens of messages Peter had sent, several mails, all filled with apologies for being something he had not chosen to become. For failing to be as human as they had expected him to be. Which was particularly rich, coming from Amy. He wondered what that conversation had been like, and if they had even properly had it, if she had told Charley what was going on. He probably blamed Peter for that, too, why wouldn't he? It had happened while they were visiting him, hadn't it?

Peter tried not to bother Lucian with these things, he really did. The guilt from when he had accused Lucian for orchestrating his kidnapping specifically so he could turn him still lingered, and he knew Lucian still felt a bit bad about it. And the way he complained about feeling like he had been turned into a monster, that he worried he would lose control and do something terrible, that had to hurt too. Had to make Lucian feel like Peter saw him as monstrous too. Like just the acceptable human half of a beastly whole. Which was, of course, completely untrue.

 **Peter:** hey. U know i <3 u & think ure the best, right?

 **Lucian:** And the feeling is very mutual, with the possible exception of your complete disregard for the English language. Many hearts to you, also. I will be back early tomorrow, I promise, my love.

 **Peter:** dickhead. Im english i get 2 decide whats right. Love you.

He really was so very lucky to have Lucian, and despite the rough few weeks earlier that spring, Peter didn't, now, think he would trade it to have his humanity back. No, he was quite happy to be immortal, really. The accidental changes, the monthly wolfing out, he would get used to that. No, it was the way people saw him that really bothered him. The way people would react to him if they found out, the way he was, now, inarguably in the eyes of any human who would learn of his new and true nature, a horrific monster. 

He considered, as he long had, if by long one meant the last week or two, whether he could incorporate some sort of heroic werewolf in his show. It would be a difficult sell, no doubt, given his rather aggressive anti vampire stance, and the amount of make up and costume challenges required here. He didn't imagine Lucian would be too thrilled with the idea either, not because he didn't like the idea of restoring the image of werewolves, but rather because he would say that it would put Peter too much at risk, make him more of a target to hunters. 

Peter still hadn't heard much about humans hunting vampires, or werewolves or any other creatures that might be out there. Well, there was the one ghost hunter show, but no one took them seriously when they rolled up to any sufficiently spooky looking building with their cameras and ectoplasm meters or whatever. But he had heard nothing of the serious ones, the people Lucian warned him about. Still, if the lycan was a bit paranoid, he probably had a good reason for it. He certainly had the scars to prove the amounts of attacks by people who knew to use silver against him, and who knew how many by mere mortal weapons, which left no trace.


	37. May 28th, 2013, Peter's Sofa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucian intervenes on Peter's behalf, Peter gets a good grade in therapy, Peter forces Lucian to experience terrible vampire media.

It was, thought Lucian, a strange experience to be the more human person in any given situation.  
Especially with someone so recently turned. Especially with Peter, who had originally so feared becoming anything less than human, anything monstrous, anything like Lucian. Still, Peter lay, transformed, his massive head resting on Lucian's lap, a clawed hand holding on to his thigh like he might fall, slip away. Lucian ran the occasional hand through thick brown fur as he tried several different yet equally inconvenient placements for Peter's laptop, which he was borrowing. Currently it was resting precariously on top of the cushions, one side leaning against the wall, the other ready to fall down and hit Peter's head. Lucian started typing, very slowly and carefully.

**From: notpeter_vincent@gmail.com  
To: c.brewster@genericuniversity.edu**

Hello, this is Lucian, Peter's lover, in case you don't recall our meeting. I am using his email address to make you more likely to read this. I understand Peter has repeatedly contacted you, but much as I love him, clear communication is not, perhaps, the greatest of his strengths. 

I understand, too, that the two of you are upset at Peter's revelation, at what I did to him, but please know that it was neither of our intentions. Peter was dying, and it was the only way I could save his life. He himself was furious at me for weeks, so please understand, however flippant he may be about the subject, this was deeply traumatic for him, and I am seeing the way the rejection from the two of you, who obviously mean a lot to him, has affected his mental health.

It is not, of course, your obligation to be nice and understanding, whatever the ramifications this has for Peter, but I will try to explain the situation a little bit, seeing as we chose not to give the two of you too much information about the condition Peter and I now share upon meeting you. This was intended for all of our safety, but given that Peter's wound has barely healed even now, clearly this was a misjudgement on our part.

There are many variants of us, much like there are of the enthusiastic consumers of more sanguineous liquids. Our kind do not, as much of your popular media suggests, lose our mental faculties upon the arrival of the moon phase in question. We remain ourselves, capable of reason and empathy and kindness, as much as in our more usual state. We do not prey on your kind, all we wish is to be able to live in peace, hidden from our oppressors, those whom you too fear and dislike.

Peter would never have hurt you, but he wished to demonstrate that he was not what you accused him of being, despite the brief conversion in 2011 clearly having left some sort of residue in him. I can agree that it was, perhaps, rash, and certainly not the best way to go about things, but it was a stressful situation, and he did what he at the time thought might be the most efficient.

In short, I hope that you will consider forgiving Peter. He feels absolutely horrendously bad about the situation, and I am sure that if there is anything he could do to make it up to you, he would. I care very deeply for him, and I do not want him to be hurt, emotionally or physically, any more than he has to.

Sincerely,  
Lucian

That was good, right? That was fine. No overt mentions of anything supernatural, in case anyone else intercepted it, but still clear and concise enough that Charley and Amy would definitely understand what he was writing about. Lucian tapped the send button, and closed the laptop, leaning over Peter to place it more safely on the table. 

“How are you feeling, my love?” he asked, burying both hands in the thick fur around Peter’s neck to pet at the spots just behind his ears, where he knew it felt particularly nice, “is it helping?”

Peter made a soft noise, and a movement that Lucian thought might be an attempt at a shrug, but which turned out to be the very start of Peter’s transformation back to his more usual shape. A little more than two minutes later an entirely human Peter rested in Lucian’s lap. He was still, of course, entirely naked, and Lucian placed a hand on his back.

“Yeah,” Peter replied, voice hoarse from vocal chords newly reformed.

He turned around so he was laying on his back, looking up at Lucian. Still, after a shower and two transformations, smudged eyeliner lingered around his eyes. The stuff was resilient.

“Feel a bit better now. Really like this, if I’m being honest with you, this stave off a panic attack by turning into a wolf business. Not something I’d have imagined working even better than drinking, but hey.”

“I’m very glad you find it helpful,” Lucian told him, “and that you are able to find some positive sides to your new condition.”

“Oh,” Peter said, “loads of positive sides. Can’t really die unless someone’s really trying, that’s nice. Immune to illness. I’m in better shape than I’ve been in, well, ever. Won’t have to worry about getting old, which, okay, I didn’t really do in the first place because I never quite expected to get to that age anyway. And. Get to stay with you for- Well. For as long as we both want to.”

And Lucian could tell Peter was focusing on the nice parts for his sake, but it was still a relief to hear he could come up with that many benefits to lycanism. Lucian wasn’t entirely sure what sorts of thoughts had triggered this panic attack, but hopefully it wasn’t just his fear for losing control again. Actually, it probably wasn’t, otherwise he would not have chosen to try to solve it by changing.

“And I do very much appreciate that,” Lucian replied.

-

“You know, it’s actually scaring me a little.”

“What is?”

“How well it’s going, between the two us. And for so long.”

The therapist raised her eyebrows.

“Yes, fine, it’s not been that long, I guess, but other than that month we were broken up-ish, we’ve been together since like January. That’s long.”

“So three months or so, all together?”

Peter frowned.

“Huh. Feels like longer.”

“How long were you and your late girlfriend together?”

“Oh, me and Ginger? That’s different, though. That was. I don’t know.”

“How long, Peter?”

“I mean, like five years or so, on and off.”

“And you were living together?”

“We were, yeah.”

“How is this different, then?”

“You mean, am I only thinking this is like real true love shit and not just another relationship because I’m still at the, you know, madly in love stage?”

“Your words.”

“Well,” Peter said, and pretended he got a notification on his phone while he tried to think of something to refute her, “well. ‘S different. Just is. I love him. Like properly love, like I’d die for him.”

Her eyes widened.

“Okay, let me clarify that, are you using that in the way my young clients are, hyperbolically, or do you really truly plan on doing so, because that’s not necessarily healthy, Peter.”

“No, not- I’m not planning to, you know, but I would, should it become necessary. I want to… I don’t know. I love him so much, and I don’t- Don’t know how to express it.”

“Have you told him?”

“Yeah.”

“Then he probably knows. I think, Peter, and I’m being honest here, that you’re doing pretty well. There is clearly a lot of things happening in your life that you refuse to tell me, and, well, that’s fine, but based on what you’re saying here, it seems like you’re doing a lot better than you were only this winter.”

“I’m all therapied out? Finished and good?”

“Peter.”

“Not how it works, yeah, I know. It’s… I know.”

-

“You’re gonna love this, promise.”

Lucian looked at him with a smile, watching as he navigated the menu on his television.

“Weeell, not love, maybe, but it’s funny. Promise.”

“I trust you completely, Peter, with my life, but I am not sure why this would be funny.”

Peter turned to him, settling back, enough to take Lucian’s hands into his. He leaned down to kiss Lucian’s knuckles.

“I know you are older than time itself, but just … it’s gonna be funny.”

“All right.”

And it… was not. It was sort of baffling, true, and reflected human sentiments about vampires’ more.. alluring qualities, something with which he was familiar, but.

“That’s- Peter, this is inaccurate. No kind of vampire has this reaction to UV light. It makes absolutely no sense.”

Peter, whose head was pillowed on Lucian’s chest only shushed him.

“This is not going to end well for this young lady. I don’t trust the vampire at all. Clearly, the wolves are not accurate either, but he seems like a much nicer young man. Also not someone a century and a half older than her.”

“Hey,” Peter said, “hypocrite.”

Which, okay. Fair, perhaps.

“Well, you’re an adult, not a sixteen year old. I wouldn’t turn a literal child, much less attempt to start any sort of relationship with one. And I still don’t see anyone who looks like me.”

“You’ve got to wait a bit longer, but it’s coming,” Peter promised, stretching, tugging at Lucian’s arm where it rested around his shoulders.

Lucian pressed a kiss to the top of Peter’s head. He supposed he had suffered through even worse entertainment for Peter’s sake. The man had a penchant for what he referred to as guilty pleasure reality trash, which Lucian suspected was genuinely harmful to one’s brain and cognitive functioning, and so he had learned to just change when Peter watched those. It was far easier to block it out as a wolf, and simply focusing on laying stretched across Peter’s lap, feeling his hands in his fur, the comforting smell of his mate everywhere.

“Could these vampires not simply use make up to cover up their reaction to the sun? Would that not block it? Surely their hair and eyes are not so reflective?”

“The thing,” Peter said, “that you’ve got to understand is that this is very stupid.”

“Oh, believe me, I’ve gathered that.”

“And this isn’t meant to be realis- oh! Look! There!”

Peter scrambled up to find the remote, elbowing Lucian in the stomach in the process. He paused it, then unpaused and repaused several times, attempting to find a non blurred frame.

“There? Like if you shaved and like straightened your hair, do you see it?”

Lucian peered at the screen, and the face which he was not quite willing to admit bore some vague resemblance to his own.

“No. That man looks nothing like me. The eyes are all wrong, and the skin looks weird and flat and – no. I appreciate you being into me enough to see my face everywhere, but that isn’t it, Peter.”

“You’re fucking blind, then. Exact same facial structure as you. Same eyes, except the contacts, same nose, same hairline, even. Less handsome, though, of course.”

He leaned in to press a soft kiss to Lucian’s cheek. Lucian huffed, rolled his eyes, and leaned back against the enormous pile of pillows threatening to spill off the side of the huge bed.

“This is slander,” he muttered.

“It’s uncanny is what it is,” Peter countered.

“Realised it when I was doing my werewolf research after meeting you.”

“This was the research you did? It really is a wonder you’re not dead.”

“Well, not just this. But there’s fewer sources on werewolves than on vampires, so yeah. Had a look at a lot of different films. Figure if a thing shows up in enough of them, then there ought to be some element of truth, yeah?”

“Like vampires and mirrors and garlic and christianity?”

“Well, not everything, but the sun thing, right? The fangs, the blood drinking, the undying need to be goth?”

“Fair, I suppose.”

“And same with werewolves. Turn into big fluffy wolf at full moon, is transmitted via bite, not big fan of silver. Got to come from somewhere, hasn’t it? And look at us, living proof, right?”

“...I suppose. But all those are simply the idea of what makes up a vampire or werewolf.”

“True,” Peter admitted, “but they’re also all pretty much right. Maybe except that one vampire whose aesthetic was aggressively nineties. And Jerry, whose look was sort of depressingly nothing in the way that human serial killers are.”

It was strange to hear Peter use the word human to mean other, to very explicitly no longer include himself in it. But it was also a relief, to know he was embracing his new identity, that he no longer felt monstrous and corrupted and wrong because of it. Lucian interrupted his continued rambling thoughts on divergent vampiric fashion statements by pulling him into a hug.

“You may have obvious face blindness but I love you anyway.”

“Mmf. Mmf ooh Oo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, had a long exam to write. Well, technically it was very slightly shorter than this chapter, but demanded a lot more research. Did get to reference the work of a character Michael Sheen played a lot, though, so that was good and fun and certainly not a focus that will lose me points because they in fact at no point asked about exhaustive anatomical information. But anyway. New chapter now. Again, Michael Sheen very much canonically exists in this and Lucian, despite his absolute refusals, does look a lot like him. And, you know, in case it wasn't obvious, Lucian is not correct in his diagnosis of Peter as prosopagnostic, he is just full of denial.


End file.
